Twist marble and gold leaf around plastered fingers,

Living to the tune of a dying music-box

Hide behind the iridescence of a butterfly wing and 

Crush dreamcatchers under your heel;

Angels wearing the too-familiar facades of the loved and lost.

Staggered inhales and exhales, breathing in the muse you always prayed for

But inspiration is as common as the stumbling notes of the old radio in the corner 

Bringing you back to the world you tried so hard to see around;

It never was an illusion to begin with


Raw creation in the form of dusty fans and unpaid bills

Mottled creams condense under furrowed brows

Ichor drip drip dripping from saccharine lips

Leave your innocence at the door,

There's no need for it here, where ash flurries, thick as snow

And ribs collapse under the tension of playing God one last time

Strap wings to your shoulder-blades, 

Latex and skin meld into something stronger

Lift your prayers to the sky, fly like Icarus into the rising sun

The possibilities are endless if you remember to forget the limits

But worldliness holds tight to your conscience and

You falter.


Fly faster, longer, harder

Every last-ditch effort leaves you without hope

Desperate fingers close to the silver lining,

Rip the seams apart and reveal the pain that lies inside

As gilded sculptures and snickering cherubim 

Tug the breath from your lungs and







You watch the world dissolve from behind your lashes

And when you close your eyes, you still see


Ella Mevissen is a 14-year-old girl living in the United States. She finds solace in creation, and her favorite hobby is making words into art. You can find her dancing in the moonlight, singing with the birds, and finding the simple joys in life. Her work has been published or forthcoming in the Ice Lolly Review, Cathartic Lit, and Write The World.