She acts like fire and walks like flame (reminds me that there's a time to change)
The girl with hair like flames rests tightly coiled, anticipating the spark. I await the combustion when she flows down the hall, thighs passing without a whisper. Her shoes are red and if I stare before closing my eyes, I can see the fiery imprints heading for a horizon. She too stares, it seems without knowing what she sees (or what she's looking for in a sea of mohawk and muscle).
Her hands are clenched, her hands are loose; is she waiting or remembering? The ring from her nose reflects the blaze; I imagine sight tinted with crimson flares. Veins visibly stream blue, but I can sense familiarity with red rivets. Her socks don't match, though I don't know if that betrays an unrestrained or unbalanced side (there is a difference). Her eyes carry a haunted look, palm indenting round but sunken cheeks. She sits with knees drawn and cradled behind forearms.
Her hips still swing when she walks, but the difference is there, more abrupt, resembling the intermediate cackling of a bonfire. She is trying to subdue, trying to be still and isolated when her very essence demands air and feeding (she denies a need to sing again). Fingers dance across sticks exhaling hazy fumes, dying to absorb heat and warp fingerprints.
I wonder what she runs on weekends, lengthy skirts creating a wake, tattoo cheekily grinning though she herself cannot. What are the experiences and consequences causing her to emerge a blond as Sunday sets? She craves a new identity, rising from the flames, her sun-kissed hair a phoenix's plumage. She cleans her nails of red polish, but her collar bones are sharp as flame-whittled sticks and her smoky voice matches her ashen brows. Her attempt at changing cannot extinguish, only dim to a fierce smolder. Touching still threatens burns, but others now approach, stroke (invade). I wish I could sustain the heat, embody and embrace it, the unbalanced or unrestrained still unanswered.
"We were friends once..."
AN: Hey guys, been too long, right? So I actually wrote this in my group about another girl who doesn't really share her story, and my head turned it into Quinn. Go figure. Hoped you guys liked :) Love it if you want to take the time and drop a review. Thanks :) and I swear they'll get longer one day haha
References: title based on Drops of Jupiter lyrics, quote from The Purple Piano Project