The lights are lucid today. Under the canopy, the lights are nice, today. I don’t believe they were the days I’ve lived before today. Mama rasps me up and down.
She tells me the canopy isn’t there.
And the lights strangle me down under. To wherever under us is.
Fingers of creases dug into fluttery flesh hold me by the arm. Canopy is between us though, her hands and my arm. I watch her fear, seeming through her skin. But I don’t feel it; it’s frigidness is outside my canopy.
She screams and kills me soon. Telling me there is no canopy. But I will not live without my canopy. It cannot be removed.
Lights will be nice again, tomorrow.
