67 percent

they told me to burn my wings

there is a mirror and in
it i see what i should
be. i am 67% strange. i
look at the skinny box-girls
with their cookie-cutters and
shiny eyes and mouths. i
am 67% too much.

there are glass splinters
in my hands and in my eyes
and i am running away from
the siren's call, the
sirens' wail while the red light
flashes. i have gone 67%
further than the
edge of the world. there
is a promise in the glittering teeth,
there is a promise watching
me from the monster's scales

the world is a promise. i look for
it and it cracks amd shifts
into a hundred thousand drifting
shards. i lose 67% of them between
the cracks in my mind and the
gap between how much i
am loved and the weight of a
bee-egg. the wind
blows through me and the
other 67% ghosts. it's
a dream too fragile
to be believed, the
mercury-world turns and
turns and we try to catch it
before it sprouts wings and
flies away. i am 67%
convinced.

i will buy a cookie-
cutter and i will buy a
siren. i will be
all that you want and you
shall strive all your
life to catch me,
without realising that
you're not real,
enough for this world.
enough of this world.

they told me to burn my wings.
so i did