to a place where suffering is just a game

[subtleresidue]

shouting in whispers

her gentle voice jumping from star to star
her fingers reaching for what she longs

scraping along the branch of a tree, instead.

she dances along the earth,
dirt kicked up by bare feet

the wind rushing through her hair
trying to enjoy what she has

but she stops.

fantasies, and reality-fantasies, and reality flooding her vision
a stormy ocean rises inside her heart
and she has to ask herself;

what is it that makes you happy?
could you ever stop caring?

will you ever find what you want to?

will you ever be happy?