Long Stems on Dead Roses

summer had arrived. still the cold remained.

we fiddled with our sticks and stones. unsure of who we needed to hurt. 

we drew in the darkness. pictures we were unwilling to see. all the permanent truths that make life long when we know it's short. 

the needle took her. stitches and all. a kite string severed by the wind. gravity futile against such a loss 

we spent our grief on wormholes and time machines. desperate for any way to mitigate the cost. 

the lion roared. alone in its hunt. as hunger carefully measured her want. 

the maps trembled against the wind. too many places to go. not enough destinations. 

she sold her pain for pennies on the dollar. determined to have her debts absolved. 

solitude blossoms like a flag unfurled. 

freedom approaches. in blunt boxes and spoiled flesh.

broken hearts embrace their chains. 

as she wonders what freedom really is.