It should've been me.

It always should've been me.

But it wasn't.

The mistakes we can't fix,

branded by the title of accident,

to shelter the endless lies flooding our waters.

The lies that fought for breath,

as you burried them.

The lies you let fester,

but never allowed to break the cage.

They're left to bend, twist, tear at the seams.

Waiting to breach the light, the surface.

The lies, you, left behind,

now a map to the story in between the lines.

But then there's you.

The shadow blended into mine,

under the watchful gaze of the silver goddess in the sky.

You raveled my unraveling,

setting me free when I thought my wings were long torn off

feather by feather.

I fell for your mask.

We were a background story that created who we are,

or who we were,

because now I am lost.

They come for me.

For the bond that ties us together.

Runnning from my reality scorched my veins

as I flew with my clipped wings.

The fates called out mocking my weak attempt

to escape a fate I had avoided once before.

A choice you say?

There had been a choice beneath?

It must have been hidden above the surface of your lies.

The lies that held my ankle, locking me below.

The last morsel of sand free falls from the hour glass.

My turn has come.

I have run out.

Of options or time,

only the ending can tell.

For this is only the beginning.