Cameo, Curtain, Shoes [https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1081627664932159620/1148820475057815553/anti_pirate_graphic_-_walking_in_sky_-_poetry_vol_1_-_white.png]

She often thought

that to be absolved

into obliviously bright light

or perfect, obsidian black

would be her idea

of both heaven and hell.

Unlike most people

she knew, she thought

of them as nearly the same.

To her, they were

as inseparable as

inhaling and exhaling.

If death is the absence

of breath,

then, she weighed,

what comes beyond that

must be the terrible, sweet ache

of lightheadedness.

The pictures on her walls

were nearly as blank as the paint.

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

One favorite,

a photograph entitled

Weather Conditions, Antarctica,

was a blur of white.

In it, wisps of snow streaked

along the bottom

and seemed to slip under the frame.

When she herself paled and greyed,

she thought life was the borrowed brightness

of the moon and that death

was the darkness behind it.

But she hoped,

she hoped

that it was more

like a velvet curtain

full with soft-bosom folds

and that death was the person

you most loved, hiding

visibly behind them,

betrayed by a pair of

familiar, telltale shoes.

-Kat Isacson

[https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/1081627664932159620/1148820475057815553/anti_pirate_graphic_-_walking_in_sky_-_poetry_vol_1_-_white.png]