Beneath me

My large prison held by its many stone parapets, hoisting me into the clouds. All my life spent in the one room, so familiar to me I see it even in my dreams never to escape from my tower. The red rug the always encircles it self in a swirling pattern lying uselessly in the center of my round span. Only accompanied by a small bed with red throw pillows and a down comforter. The air inside is forever open and free; the outsized opening in my wall always makes sure of that. A crisp chill eerily floats among my domain, sheets of ice coat my woven roof and icicles throng the gaping opening. My hair long and frivolous my only warmth its runs the length of tower twice over, its comes to aid my soul not to freeze. A small doll raggedy, dirty, and salty from year of tears sits in waiting amongst my sowing effects in the wicker basket. Always there to comfort me in my time of need, my best and only friend. Feeling as I have for months, I take my doll in hand clasping in close to my chest. Walking gently almost gliding to my window I look over the horizon and then down to the earth I have never known. Closer and closer I become until we meet, laying face down in the grass it unexpectedly crunches beneath me, a layer of frost eludes my perception of a soft texture. I see the world from a separate view than ever before and it slowly slips away. Blurred vision and black engulf my colorful world and I lay still. Golden locks pile upon me a fitting blanket for my final sleep.