Origami Fingers

she could fold herself into a wine glass, my sister and
drown quite peacefully in its septic water, but its blue liquid
turned and clawed out her eyes like a plague of locust; their wings
settle around her eyelashes, shielding the sky from her.

she never heard when i called her name, or asked
her to smile. inside, her identity thawed and dissolved; ice
ran down her paper legs and puddled onto the checkered
floor of her prison, softening the shackles on her ankles.

her slumbers were eternal, and her days lethargic and gin soaked.
white sunlight shone from the gaps of her bedframe, shredding her bones.
the demons inside her skull tried to piece her back together
but instead they camouflaged her dreams out of existence.

my sister gave herself to me, as a gift. she sits there on my
bookshelf next to my hardbacks and my self-loathing. yesterday
I saw her intricate folds seep into my walls like a possession
that turned her origami fingers into ghosts, delicate and half dead.