Friction Or Fate?

Silence, she whispered.
Nothing stop it.
Nothing but it.
Silence, in her grasp.
Ladybirds play cheerfully,
kissing their wings in flight.
Her childish stupor gazes in awe
as she injects herself into her sky.
Ssh, she says, putting a finger to her lips,
her actions larger than life.
Ssh, she repeats, angrier now,
scolding the numbness that trickled through her.
Now concentrate, and make me proud.
And she jumps.
Her legs in the air, arms gracefully outstretched.
She jumps.
High into the sky,
high above the very grass that supports her-
light, sweet, tempting;
a poet's inspiration, a musician's guitar,
a sin for all to embrace.
High above the world,
with thoughts of escape and wonder,
seeping into the foam of freedom
that soaks up the philosophers of the world.
She flies gently, with frayed wings and heart,
into the dark smoke that clouds her nightmares.
A gun to her head, a knife to her wrist;
she descends.