A raven sits perching on her branch
The melancholy atmosphere weighing down on her iridescent purple wings

She reaches out to be free
to fly away once more
only to be stopped by the sullen overbearing hold
of reality

The perplexing barrier between life and death,
real and fake,
beacons her forward

She struggles to flap her wings,
to fly away into the depths of the night
to see things for how they truly are
disguised by the black cloth,
draping over the hills

She pulls forward
only to be pushed down again
the overbearing hold of reality
pulls her down
she struggles to break away

Harder and harder she pulls
closer and closer to the truth

Such as the raven flies away
she flies too
Captured in her own embrace
solace,
she hopes

Flying flying flying

Until she hits glass