By Loryn Holokai ’16
The porcelain glassed,
pink ballet slippered,
fragile, soft underbelly of everything,
the diamond lined,
wholeness of it.
the puddles of soft droplets spilled over it,
the finger-lined purple bruises of it,
the red liquid that seeps from it,
it is all and it is nothing,
it is you, and me and no one.
The absence and utter fullness,
enveloping the voids so deeply engrained in humanity.
Leaving patches devoid,
unreachable, unattainable and undesirable.
It is a misty mountain fog.