Spirals

[meadzbabyy]

I kept running up
or was I falling through?
The stairs turned to vapor,
yet the chasm never grew.

I buried my joy
in a well that breathed dust.
It coughed once at midnight,
then sealed itself shut.

I’m tethered to sky,
yet stitched through the floor—
the clouds feed me silence,
and the dirt wanted more.

I swam through mirrors,
each ripple a wound.
I drowned in the silver
yet wasn’t consumed.

I never asked for a crown,
but it bloomed from my skin.
Thorns curled like questions
and anointed me within.

I was meant to be motion,
but they pinned me with names.
Hung words on my shoulders
and called them my shame.

I long to be adjective
a color, a phase.
But I live as a noun,
stagnant beneath days.

They dressed me in gold,
then laughed in brown.
As if rust was a joke
and not a burial gown

What is a spiral,
but a mere circle breaking down?