She weaves her words carelessly

Spinning silk that folds into living origami,

Softly creased and pale as a hint of mist

That's so fleeting it's hardly seen.

She treads dust like water,

Climbing to the edge of divine

And back again; she wanders.

A shooting star to those who watch

Her fall.

Behind kohl dirtied eyes she merges into mundane.

Smudged by disillusion her colours run,

Bleeding a maze of rainbows.

Finally she runs off the page,

Trapped in the intricacies of

Words she once trivially folded.

She is lost to her own creation.