There’s a girl out there with blue skin and hair the color of wind~ she drinks from the sun and sleeps under the moon In hope to fill the sky with blue, and drain her shadowed mind from its breathing thoughts of you. Her eyes are violet and her skin the shade of glass. She’s made friends with the trees when they longed for the most, for it’s November and they’ve just lost all their leaves. She lay to sleep on her field of purple flowers, and watched as the paper world crumpled in around her. Slowly she suffocated between the earths pages, and her tears leaked words between their lines. Her breath wrote a story about a boy with violet skin, and hair the color of the ocean. She ran inside the spine of the earth until her lungs used up their last bit of life. She never found the boy with ocean hair, nor did she return to the sun or the trees. She left them their to live on their own. For her legs became the ink and her body became the story– her heart had lost its voice and it stopped its quiet beating, for it was made of paper. She tried her best, but she could not escape, for the simple reason of that she did not exist. She did not have blue skin or hair the color of wind, she did not have lungs or a beating heart. She had never lived in a world with the trees and the sun, she had always lived in her paper world– within a bundle of paper lines, inside of someone else’s mind.