#sdaksadsda

she’s always been a softer creature,  being made in the gentler sides of nature’s downfalls.   the flicker of dimness within the fluttering of wings,  but hers are perhaps  c l i p p e d  in respect to her own condition of flight.   with  MUTED  lungs,  WET  eyes,  she’s burrowed herself down,  down,  so far down that whispers won’t resolve to bring her from the depths of everything she’s made to keep herself shielded   (   weak shields,  for what is a maiden of weighted burdens to do when shoulders  cannot  carry   ?   ).   &  perhaps that’s why her eyes take the time to adjust to the dark in the room,  shaken comfort with breath made too loud to discard.   sweat in her palms,  &  there’s cotton stuffed within a mouth of certain imagery   (   of sweet pain,  of quiet suffering.   ).   tongue comes out to wet cracking lips,  &  she thinks to walk herself to the kitchen,  but the lock in her limbs of anxiety caress dried skin with a  smile.   “   are you awake   ?   “