Paint’s falling around my body, talking coldly.
Fingertips reaching out, temperature drops, paint drips down.
Galvanized, I don’t feel my legs. I decide that,
Heat must come from paint cans. I can stay awake.
Seductively, it asks me “Will this kill you?”
Ring around the Rosie, I’ll always play. What’s next?
Through intoxicating unease, I say “No Grey, not today.”
On a Friday, I float further away, pulsing.
Crackling joy winds itself round my veins concealed.
Heavy, tachycardic breathing, am I blinking?
Spying, grey-soaked eyes unapologetically
Obscuring my boundaries. My skin is repulsed by my organs.
Cut me open, and you’ll see Grey.
Reel me back in place. “Grey, you’re electrifying.
You’re messing with my head in all the right spots.”
Grinning, it feels pink and pretty. Grey grabs me,
Twisting, forcing, leading me. I think I’ll stay here.
Twelve, thirteen, fourteen all give me small distorted gifts
But, thirteen doesn’t make me sleep.
Thirteen, I like best.
Harmony Filson is a junior at Cumberland University in middle Tennessee. She is an English and Secondary Education major, and plans on one day obtaining a doctorate in English. She hopes to teach at a university after she is done with schooling. She started writing fiction when she was in high school, but has since transitioned to other genres. She writes poetry and nonfiction, and hopes to share the passion she has for writing with her future students. A lot of her writing is influenced by memories and harsh truths throughout her life. She likes reading and writing work that makes the reader question boundaries and traditions. She hopes to one day publish a novel and own a farm, and plans to keep writing poetry while she works towards these goals.