i imagine myself as a cloud.
dissipating into space
not trying to maintain any
particular shape and form.
letting the currents cast
my lines where they may.
a little boy watches me from below,
tries to make sense of who i am:
perhaps a whale, a dinosaur, a boat.
he decides to change me
by turning his kite
and facing me head on,
slicing through my belly,
revealing my insides
which are the same
as my skin.
the strings of his sword
cut me into pieces
the trail of bowties
splice my stitching.
my wounds are whisps
scattered through the sky.
they do not bleed.
i feel no pain.
but sometimes i rain.
these are not tears,
just bits of stardust
trying to find home.
my lungs swell with
the sea and i exhail
in purging waves.
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