little stories left to sit
and wait until they fly.
All my little dead stories,
How I wish I could have made you whole.
I wrote about a giant walled city,
of which nobody wanted to escape.
I thought of a fantastical world,
where creatures could disguise themselves as everyday objects,
I drew out an underground utopia,
cold and falling to pieces.
Oh, these little dead stories,
they will never see the light of day.
Maybe someday,
when everything clicks just right,
I can find a place for a story to call home.