. Solo

𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝. Solo—

She reached out and put her arm in the loop of her exquisitely made wings. Megan understood, without a shadow of a doubt, that she wasn't supposed to use these wings for real flight. It was all for show. made for her in-production film, by very talented individuals in the prop department. However, the stunning actress had spent the whole day mulling over the thought of escaping the confines of the present shooting site.

Megan was oblivious to the passing of time since she could not see a single window. Everyone was moving at a snail's pace, so it had to be late. The length of the takes was increasing, and she was about ready to disappear into the dim lights. Megan took a deep breath, exhaled, and then gave it her all as the cameras started rolling. And yet, what did she do best? This scenario, in which she is both nude and adorned with angel wings, obviously couldn't be the only one.

The director was prompted to begin winding up today's session by one of the mic operators giving him the thumbs up. Returning to her dressing room in a flash, Megan outpaced both the creative art director and the tailor. Taking off these wings was necessary for her. She was determined to remove them from her. There was this irony in the thought that she was too "wicked" to wear such radiant wings, and it seemed as if she was boiling over everywhere.

Why couldn't Megan just be an angel? The thought of missing out on paradise? So she would be sent into a state of eternal damnation, a limbo state, a bottomless pit? No. There was absolutely nothing standing between the little lady and her role as the earthly angel. However, an angel served no practical use.

The set's trailer door was ripped open by Megan, who moaned in agony as the wings' springs pierced her lower back. Well, they really did get their claws into her, even for such lovely wings. As prop management removed them, she bit her bottom lip and covered her naked body with the towel.

Megan heard the door open as Jesse walked in after she had taken it off. Just by inhaling his signature cologne perfume, she knew it was him. Its scent, which was both minty and musky, lingered long after it was gone. The design director and the props said their goodbyes to Megan and then departed. As he stepped past her, Jesse sat down on the sofa and sent her an awkward glance. As Megan folded her arms across her chest, the scowl on her face became even more pronounced.

"S'wrong?" Jesse asked as he crossed his left leg over his right one.

A silent Megan remained. She understood what was wrong, but the words she wanted to speak seemed to become lodged in her throat. Additionally, her mind was wandering aimlessly. Regardless of the criticism and the hostility that the film had already received, Megan seemed to be having fun in her performance. However, she was unable to evade the public's social perception of her.

She looked across at her companion and arched an eyebrow as she gnawed on her lower lip. The only thing Jesse could do, like a rabbit caught in the headlights, was gaze back. In the past, friends would have maintained this kind of emotional and psychological bond. Just for this second, it was gone. At long last, the gorgeous actress settled onto one of the trailer's seats. With her delicate legs crossed, she ran her fingers through her hair, removing any remaining hairpins and cosmetics stray strands.

A rough breath from her mouth once more. Why was she acting strangely? The inquiry was both rhetorical and disgusting. Certainly not "anything" but certainly not "something" was amiss with Megan. Leaving the comfort and familiarity of her picturesque, isolated Palm Springs retreat, she may have returned to the world of Hollywood too quickly. Perhaps, just perhaps, she was about to go insane.

The ignite of Jesse's spliff sparked Megan's nose; and began to invade the only but so much space of her trailer. Her blue eyes watched as he inhaled the sweet sedative, and he quirked an eyebrow as if asking, if she wanted some. Did she?

Her great involvement in the fields of psychodelics is known to all who knew Megan or who come to know her. She personally spent the first three weeks in the depths of her Palm Springs flee enjoying effects to mushrooms. She experienced dizziness, a lack of gravity, and the tantalizing impression of being unfettered. Megan found total liberation in the desert, which was picturesquely located next to the Springs' house. A spliff, then, did not dissatisfy the attractive lady. She took three deep breaths and let out a puff of smoke as she seized it from Jesse.

She floated aimlessly, her mind racing with the question of what was wrong with her. She did not anticipate feeling depressed. Nothing more than the paralyzing dread that something was amiss. Megan may have read too much into her part for this film, too. Maybe her thoughts were whirling around the spliff that was nestled between her thin fingers. As she let out another breath, she saw the smoke whirl and crash about the room. Jesse nodded in satisfaction as he slouched back into the sofa, delighted by the situation. Naturally, this might be the opinion of any Hollywood actor, actress, or anyone of royal likeness. Writing down this "unknown" feeling in one of Megan's several diaries would provide her comfort. For the simple reason that she could be losing her sanity.

Dulcet Viper~

Enter the vipers' lair and allow it to devour you. Allow yourself to be consumed by the inferno of existence's flame. Gulled wings of birds, insects, and moths—anything that can fly—may very well engulf you.

Fear does not belong in that sweet, balmy the passageway. Nothing but the viper and its delightful scent—no leftovers, no wants at all. Keep plunging into the abyss until you discover peace. Inhale the rath that is in between—the one that is deep, musky, and entrancing.

Let life unfold as it will, rather than pretending to be flawless. Think about it more than anything else. Soak in life's little pleasures, learn from your mistakes, and come out on top. Feel the burn of the vipers' pit within you as you revel in the triumph in trying again.

Lugubrious

In the depths of a blazing anguish, alone. Whispering into thin air as if no one is listening. Confined, slashed, and shattered. I am aching for the short hit of bliss, and my veins are pounding with battery acid.

Grieving for arms that aren't there anymore. Curious about joy that is elusive. Perhaps my own destiny and will have damned me to a life of misery. Improved for what—that remains a mystery.

My own consciousness gathers dust while it awaits the invisible. In the depths of what could have been, my spirit wanes, and my body aches from what is never going to be.

Seems like I'm destined to spend the rest of my life down in my own deluded pit of despair. All I want, maybe, is a fantasy of a future that will never come to pass.

Forget it. Down and out. It breaks my heart. Intended to shatter like glass. Tragically, I have buried a lot of my true self. The portions that I am familiar with are no longer relevant to my existence. To a lesser extent than the air I take in. Because of my own free choice and the soul that I conjured up, I am alone, and I am yearning, corrosive, and tender.

Desolate, tainted, wicked and aggressive in thought, yet kind in spirit—that is me.

Eunoia

See me aloof and unconstrained. Rising with the sun, enchanted by the spirit of a fresh day.

The beginning of a natural chapter, a chance for my inner fire to ignite. Discover me furious, charmingly crazed by the very nature of existence.

Locate the unusual trails marked by deep imprints, which indicate that someone, somewhere has been here before. Everything in life is a dream, splattered with distortion and sprinkled with brief moments of innocence.

I am seeking a cognitive dissonance; please, find me. Collect me and probe me with questions about life. I won't hold back my opinions, but I will be quite blunt. I won't gloss over it or pretend it doesn't matter; I just won't. Life is life, beautifully charmed in fire.

choose me,

bruise me,

effortlessly

undo me;

fill my mind

with your need;

tenderly, and

with anxious speed

make me yours, devour

worship at the pool of my flower;

my fire, yours, sharing my super power;

quaking

shaking

always closer

in my dreams than flesh.

Tendril wounds...

The struggle to move on.