⁎ ⁎ ⁎

a frightening amount of fractured souls are falling from the clouds, for they listen to the sky's tears. the silent story whispering, "it's impossible to go anywhere but down," as the translucent waterfall weighed down by grief seemed to descend endlessly, easily. and why wouldn't they listen? there was nothing else present to persuade them of otherwise; to contradict the asinine cries of the cynical.

the souls tirelessly floated above it all, nonetheless. covered by the cloud's breath
and the baited glare belonging of the unforgiving sun. they saw life from the notoriously coined: "big picture," yet everyday, the abstract interpretations dwindled into nothing more than dust.

they were anomalies, truly. nobody
else saw it as much. thus, they believed
it to be another blasphemous poison created
to initiate a false sense of hope.

mercy, they were lonely.
and the only voices came from below.
instead of turning to each other?

they too, cut their wings
and fall.

— 5:23 | 04/04/18