Rolling Crystal

'It's not me at all,'she murmurs
Twining the thoughts inside her tumult;
Twizzling them around her pondering finger
Falling amongst the tangles in her hair.
'It's not me.'
'It's not.'

Her feet sink inside the dirty golden carpet,
Deeply wrapped in the sifting, shifting rolling ground.
Whining and whooshing, the whiteness of gulls sweep the invisible ceiling above
her head,
Silver cobwebs of thought
falling over her face.

'Murmur murmer...' mutters the sea.
'But, it's not me,' she whispers.
'Not me.'

Foamy whiteness hisses around the ground
upon which she walks
Reflecting her confusion and confiding in her feet.
'It is...'
Shushing and shooing her thoughts into silence.

Stepping into the sharp rolling crystal
of the sea,
She shimmers, drowning in her reflection.
Drowning in her mirror.
Slashing ice upon her skin
Wanting to fall deeply within her
dark depths.

'No'
the 'o' fills
with water.
Water from the crystal sea.

'Oh'
'Not me.'
©prettyintelligentprincess