The ocean envied her.
She was beautiful.
She was insane.
She was an angel with black ink wings.
She jumped but never fell.
The earth held her in the palm of its hand.
And the ocean envied her.
Wanted to crush her with cruel hands and turn her into a thousand grains of sand.
She thought she could fly with those black ink angel’s wings.
She jumped but never fell.
And the ocean envied her.
Grabbed greedily.
Wanted to fill her lungs, drag her beneath.
But she walked insanity’s fine line.
She jumped but never fell.
She tripped but never fell into the arms of the envious ocean.
One day in the cold and silver of January.
She walked to the ocean.
And the ocean reached for her, wished it could rip off her black ink wings.
She ran through the ocean’s curves.
The ocean danced in delight as it filled her lungs, and tore her to pieces.
Crushed her with cold, cruel hands.
She jumped and drowned.
She couldn’t fly with tattooed wings.
She was insane.
She was beautiful.
She was an angel with black ink wings.
And the ocean envied her.