the departure by D.Y. Ink (13, USA)*

she leans back into the void,
wet hair plastered to the curve
of her u-shaped spine, eyelids
seared into her pupils. her only
company is it, the agony buried
deep in her skull. it throbs like a
lover; it hurts like a friend. she clutches
her head and claws it out / hurls it into the abyss.

---

it slips from her fingertip. it soars into the distant light. it sings of flight and other discarded things / painful things / and it vanishes into the dark.
it is silent for the first time since she came.
she presses her palms to her eyes and
stanches the blood flow from her ears.
she chooses not to see, not to hear.
here, where she does not feel weak
when she cries; she leans back and
pretends she isn't lonely. she loses
something important. she loses sight of
herself and what she really wanted.
the darkness expands with the movement
of her fear. it has no voice yet she thinks it
mocks her with its escape. her hands
are blind, she closes her eyes and refuses
to acknowledge her own existence. she stays in the
darkness and she stays inside where hurt does
not reach her. a pitiful paper girl, who no
longer sees nor hears nor feels nor smiles
can pretend that she is happy here.

​