questa vita

it's picking nails until they're to the quick overthinking a violent ballet of hope kicks of dread all the different possibilities interweaving together constantly it's borrowed time the old adage that the rain comes before the storm but the darker side of that is that the storm always comes thunder, rain and lightning lighting up the pitch, starless sky for seconds at a time so you're fumbling around, tripping and scraping your knees the booming reverberating in your head your only solace. the only true thing. the only voice you hear. it's shaking and racked lungs it's becoming too tired to think about it anymore it's sleeping it away because that's your only option and it's the light peeking over the horizon lifting your eyelids feeling the dawn slowly coming the earth being warmed by the red, orange and then yellow sun it's the relief of peace that calms your labored breathing it's finally holding someone...

a glass figurine, shining and new, placed on a shelf shards of sun burst through a window, reaching clear to the center, refracting. giving it life. she places the cold glass into her palms, afraid she will drop it afraid of the loud shatter of a million pieces the blood under the surface of her skin warms it slowly as she marvels at what she has. so clean with no marks, scratches or fingerprints it's the purest thing she owns her excitement to share it with other people -the world- makes her shake with anticipation the grin on her face is proud and she's not sure where to begin as she steps out some of the people she meets marvel at the beauty of what she has they add more rays of light into the glass figurine and it remains so pristine  sparkling  but the sun has to go down. the people she meets become indifferent to the glass figure they just can't see what it does with the sunlight, she thinks hopeful tomorrow, they will see how bea...