at the age of 7, 

the naive paradise 

recreating the panorama 

an illusion

along the vacant canvas 

our own 

“once upon a time…”

at the age of 8, 

frayed hair

tangled with the murmurs,

whispers under woven curtains on sultry days,

bliss blistering guilt-ridden shadows

stalking, suffering, starving 

still pondering:

what were we?

at the age of 9, 

out at dusk catching fireflies

flickering amidst our glistening fingers, 

lights - off, on, off, on 

one in the cup of my hands, 

another in Hers

one nestled, burrowing in the shallow creases of pale palms,

another confined, held hostage:

whose was whose?

at the age of 10, 

two roads diverged

one into a meadow, 

unadulterated,

another into the wild forest, 

brambles piercing the skin 

your bare ankles bearing the weight

fractals of crystalline tears

embellishing the frigid path of oblivion, 

or was it ignorance?

at the age of 11, 

the slow fading of a persona 

buried beneath pursed lips 

laden with undisclosed stories 

the steel armor of your mahogany eyes

sunburned, beaten hazel 

pooling into the raven hell of the Styx

remnants of red scars 

wreathed in flames  

blemishes blossoming into tantalizing whirlpools

of self-abhorrence 

at the age of 12,

she clung to the ladder

ascending to the stars 

desperation swarming 

unfathomable sentiments encircling 

the futility, the absence, the desolation

she wanted to leave 

amidst sinful trades with the devil 

hellish brutes and formidable ambitions 

whipping gales of unsettlement

hushed whimpers, silenced yearns for salvation 

who was she?