Pressing, darting fingers

A cool, cotton screen

It's thin––you might fall through

Pure, white linen, a scream

Just about to burst

Through the glass

To wait, patiently

Inside, I am fire

And smoke,

Breath forgotten,

Choked by black cloud

To tiptoe on a precipice

Clumsy in ballerina shoes

As the tips break,

Choked by darkness

And fall limply.

Curtsy.

And grin madly.