the empresses’ borrowed robes

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Photography: Flowerfolio

her footsteps echo through
another nameless tunnel
in this concrete maze,
all the lost ones, left searching.

the train rumbles above
towards its destination,
as inevitability echoes around
the thought of destiny, it ricochets
in her shaking fingertips
passing through flesh, bubbling blood
sinking into brittle bone but doesn’t quite
pierce the soul, she is so afraid of others
but also the dark, of herself,
and of death, leaving no mark.

nobody is born a voyeur
but life told her she is not a voyager –
so what else can she do but wrap the strands
of strange, perfect lives around her like
golden silks embedded with ruby stories
pretend to be the empress in her
borrowed robes, she quieten the child
who wants to shatter these delusions,
and let the rainbow light dance off her skeletons  –
what to be when waking feels like being asleep,
nothing to see but these false and wonderful dreams.

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