kick off the covers.

my sleeves are long. too long and black. not too thick not too thin. just perfect. one perfect thing, to keep me warm. one perfect thing to give this short arm a glimmer of hope. its contagious.

karen is nagging. she wants to know my schedule so she can help me. she knows all. i see her pudgy pale face on the back of the beige bathroom stall. and i refrain. sometimes.

but what i really want to ask is why. why are you still seven years old? have you forgotten to eat your weaties every morning? is your mother failing to give you all your fruits and vegetables? is that why you are unable to grow up big and strong, like superman? unable to climb the stairs alone? and um, excuse me, but i see you hiding behind those boxes little girl. im afraid to touch your skin, it might melt off or just CRACK into a million little pieces. i want to dip you in wax and preserve you and the grass colored room forever. even if it reeks of smoke and stale potato chips.

HEY! do you see the hot air balloon? the one soaring over this nineteen story prison cell! its coming for me, its going to take me to the moon. or maybe just somewhere else, somewhere far away. me and my balloon can stop by and pick you up if you want, the adventure will only last a few days, but i promise it will be one you'll never forget.

c'mon! hurry! lets go! please?!?! before i get cold again. before the silver cracks its whip. before the blue glass beads and red pearls form an indestructible piece of jewelry.