//------------------------------//
// Empty 
// Story: Autophobia 
// by Ice Star 
//------------------------------//


wings that pump uselessly
legs of swaying lead
throat still choked
eyes that can't see
and a heart that outweighs them all
the wind is deafening
maddening
silence will drive the mare mad
the tears and little red nicks
from the last outburst 
are only proof of that
but
sound isn't much better

the mare's magic falters
and the mare reaches up with one hoof of gold
she had called them shackles in her writing
and from her experience it was rightly so
so the mare catches all that is left
unsorted scraps and words that managed
to remain untorn in desperation
dry of tears
preserved
unbroken
everything the mare wasn't

the mare who knows nothing of where the horizon leads
what lies beyond
or even the current land where
the mare
plain
unnamed
as pure
no, as blank, as the white fur that 
covers unfeeling skin
hooves gloved in gold to keep their impurities from tainting
the sainted, hallowed, words
as painful as carved flesh
they cannot be kept

the mare's bearings are off
the flight is aimless now
to say that the mare is apathetic
would be a lie
it isn't that there isn't care
or empathy
or love
and mirth, such nasty joyous things

the mare is only dead
from the inside out