reserve- In Progress~

prompt;
"you say there's only eight stories told on repeat, and life's pretty boring once they've all been seen, i disagree but how you feel, that doesn't surprise me."
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You want to fly out on wings of paper with stardust and glue, and I don't want you to go, so I come along with you. I have wings made of more substantial things, like glass shards and half bent nails screwed in with tar for bonds.  But its not enough sometimes to fix all the feathers you're pulling out of your wings. 

I watch you tear your skin apart and wonder why its okay for you to do that when you tell me not to use my soul as a target for knives.  [If my soul were good for anything, I'd relent, but it cant even heal you.]  I try in vain to keep you from moving, because it's like butterflies flying through razors, but you shrug me off and move off like someone who's quietly bleeding to death inside. 

All the little tricks we learn as children to keep our wounds from hurting, like a power-ranger band-aid or a kiss from mommy if shes not too busy, don't work anymore.  I'm watching your figure get eaten by sharks of vicious words that circle in your mind.  Watching you struggle is like watching a star burn out in slow motion.

And darling, I have strength for you too if you'd just fold your tattered wings and let me carry you.  My steel-hollow bones aren't perfect for flying, but they wont let me break.  I waited for you in [four million two hundred thirty three thousand six hundred] seconds, and every moment was worth it when your neon laugh floods the room.