the world around me is made of chalk

tall colorful pillars rise from the ground, their shapes abstract and strange

in the daytime, the warm light of the sun keeps them dry and towering

when the rain comes, they ooze into rivulets of rainbows, leaking across the sludge of chalk past melted and reformed

as the rain goes, the few still standing crumble into damp fistfuls of powder

this cycle goes on and on forever until i am the only thing still standing as the rain batters my face

has it ever been enough?

every time the pattern rebuilds itself differently and i think maybe, just this once, it will hold its form

when the storm clouds come, i know better.

a strange, profound grief has overtaken me today

no one has died, and yet i find myself teetering at the edge of an endless grave

surrounded by identical pits of the past, each one stuffed with ghosts yet so empty

i know what will go here. 

i have strung phantoms together with twine covered in red chalk

yet here they stand, unbound, around the edge of this crypt

perhaps they consider the same thing i do.

it has never been enough. 

my red twine rests limp in my hands, wrapped around each finger like the strings of a puppeteer

an audience of mannequins rests before me, their bodies lifeless as they stare at the stage

they were never watching.

a drop of water lands on the floor between my feet, rolling down my cheek and onto the twine

the storm has come, and the color fades through my fingers, painting my skin in shades of red and orange and violet as the tempest begins

there was a time when that meant something

now they are just colors, words melting into letters, rain soaking through my skin into the heart of my bones.

the temperature is dropping.

water is pooled around my knees, already carrying away the mannequins, leaving my hands stained no matter how hard i scrub at them

am i sinking?

is the water rising?

does it matter?

years of pulling at the twine until my fingers bled, rubbing red chalk into the red blood until it stung enough to deserve attention

years of shattering into tiny, tiny pieces, hundreds of colors staining the sky, all to drip down in one day's rain.

you've given yourself away and there's nothing left, a voice whispers to me, fingers icy against my shoulders

they might be right. 

as the water rises above my chin, i sink into it

i swallow my last breath, and it begins to freeze.