What did you do?

A flight in a room
towards the white light.
It's not true, it's not true.
Sometimes in a park
on merry-go-round with -
pretty pink and sun-kissed yellow.
Is it a fact? Who tells you?
It moves, over a tea cup
thinking brown, being blue.
Midsummer heat bakes
crisp the body of wings.
Coffins too attract, so do
the sight of falling cards
four, three, two...
First on edge then below
like a cold debris, it lies
in dark, looking at you.