Glass Hills


United States
32° 53' 35.5704" N, 117° 4' 3.504" W

Everyone whispers behind me,
Their breath tentative on my neck.
They point at me and say,
Remember who she used to be?
A year ago I was running, leaping, bounding, endlessly traveling forward.
A comet, I was, and everyone noticed.

Then when I burned out,
Smothered by the blackness and hushed out in that impossible dark,
They all noticed that too.

I treid to run up a glass hill, but, frictionless, I slipped away.
I fell, and everything fell with me.
Todo se derrumba.

I hid in melodies, 
I cowered beneath blankets and pillows.
I bade my farewells to sleep and sustenance,
And embraced the life of a disorded insomniac.

Who am I? I asked. 
I don't recognise this stranger starting back at me through this glass.
Who am I? I asked, in evening and in morning,
At noon and at midnight.

I slipped down that glass hill,
Desperately trying to grab or claw or tear,
But there was nothing. 
How can I survive in this world, surrounded by glass and darkness?
I am searching, looking for the light, grasping blindly for a handhold. 

I must make my own ladder out of the pit,
Forged from blood and bone and will. 
I can't give up, not yet. 
I will climb and crawl and claw myself out of this hole,
This impossible mess of glass and shards and blackness.

I will rise. 

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