the magnetism of self destruction- of questions that you shouldn’t want answered. how small am i? rolling my shoulders in, sugarsweet breath in my lungs, the world blurring at the edges as i whirl through the air. how old is this machine? rusted at the joints creaking with each push up and down and up. it’s screaming, too, when it stops, stalls swallowed by the sky (holding how many fragile souls in its steel ribcage?) i’m weightless for a moment before i press against the safety bracket wondering can i be weightless longer? and shrinking, shrinking, finding a helping hand in gravity’s gentle pull
i’m slipping d o w n.
my world creaks again, and i’m forced back, stolen from the greedy earth, from floating.
Penelope Rudolph is a Southern teenage girl who lives in a small town. When she isn’t holed up in her room working on a doomed project, she enjoys going on “disgustingly teenage” adventures with her friends.