merlin ; nyte/fox ; white elephant

The sun is quiet today. Stagnant as moss on a pond and I think she must be angry. I feel no warmth, this day belongs to winter after all and are always filled with frost and dry light, pink shadows caressing oil-ruined streets. She hides behind clouds, ones painted light gray and she must be hoping that the world will not be such an awful place when she pulls herself from behind the sheets of ice laid in the sky. She hopes what we all do, when we close our eyes and wish upon a broken dream.

I'm so tired. There are bags under my eyes, deep as the bruises once pressed into my cheeks with loving knuckles and I don't think that even makeup will cover these blemishes. Not a good sign, given it is my job to look young and carefree. To be beautiful. My innocence is a selling point, an attraction. I am who you can look at and not touch, I am a horse yet to be broken and they all yearn to be the first to ruin such soft skin with their teeth and their fingernails across my back.

They all know the rules in that club, they all know that they cannot touch me and yet it brings no comfort when I can feel their eyes crawling down my spine and lingering upon places I'd rather keep private. One of these days, they'll break the rules. One of these days, they will take me.

At this point, I'm merely counting down the days until I am ruined.

But I don't think about that. I don't think about the shift looming over me like the sun's dark sheets, I think about nothing but the cold air upon my cheeks and how it must be staining them bright red. I think about the stories that howling wind scream in my ears and I smile because the songs are sweet and the morning is young. Not everything is awful, there is no one evil ruling the world. Maybe some day, it'll be okay. I'll be okay.

There is a sweetness to the world, a silver lining. Like a boy's hair after he has woken from a long sleep, the way it sticks up in tufts and how his lips are swollen and cracked from the night's harsh whispers. Like being wrapped in someone's arms and sat in front of a warm fire, watching the embers slowly turn to ash as flame eats the world alive. There are smiles to be found, happy moments to be stolen and so I'm not going to give up. Not just yet.

But maybe today was not meant to be a good day. That is why the sun hid away. Where the ground once stood there is nothing but air beneath my feet. There is skin scraping against the cement and bones bruising on harsh edges. Where I once stood king of the hill, I tumble and sink until I am left a dirty, beaten peasant at the bottom of a kingdom.

And I can't quite feel my legs.

"Help? Anyone?"

I pray that my plea will not be found upon deaf ears.