melted

I do not want to drown myself

The unspoken words of Her Grace.

Simply put, the monarch butterfly in my state of mind

Soars like Icarus;

Unknowingly melting, falling

While rising closer to truth and peace and love.

If not drowned, I will burn

A process that is too much to handle.

My hand melting the railing

Melting and sculpting

Meld it into newness

And force revival; rebirth

Over and over until satisfaction occurs

Inevitably the metamorphosis will not last

Indefinitely I will be working the clay at the weaver's desk

And stitching my own skin to the layers of railing I undid.

~