musings on inspiration .

[xunpredictablel]

crystalline structures hang from my ceiling
as i reach out to touch them , they fall to my
iced carpet and shatter.

i am curious - i stand on a single, wooden chair.
it creaks as i stand on tip-toes
for a taste of the water the spikes
could provide.

and as my tongue grazes the bold ice,
it comes away with a bitter,
aching taste that i can feel
in my very core .

i realize the goosebumps creeping
up my arms are from an unrelenting
cold .

i squeeze my eyes shut gently ,
and i open them , now my room is lit
afire .

but the fire is stationary , and i am not
frightened of the dancing flames that
lick the bottoms of my feet on the chair.

i step down , and i am not burnt ,
though the threads of my carpet are now
the links of the fire , lacing it together
eternally .

i cannot sweat , i look at my skin and it is so white
that it glows . i look at my hair and
it is so blonde that i am
temporarily blind .

i cannot see but am certain that my fingertips are
touching the eyelids of
brilliant baby blue eyes .

and i am but a child again , lost in the
bittersweet entanglements
of imagination .