There go the flying pigs...
Collapsing into an eternal pit of
nothingness – not even a shadow for company.
Deeper and deeper…
How am I supposed to bounce back up,
When I’m left with no ground to stand on.
Like a dainty, tainted snowflake, falling and falling…
STOP!
“There go the flying pigs,” I’d say
“You look fine, dear” is the reply.
No one can ever see them high
up in the sky at noon.
As no one has ever bothered to glance
into my reflection.
And into that which is no longer there.
