broken on the floor. what are all these dots in the parquetry, impossible to see when standing tall and pretending to be something able to have a conscience which doesn’t rot from misuse or drive me to lose everything. so i fall, down in a mess, and suddenly now see all the little cracks and cuts which have glared for so long from the underbelly of the shine. they lurk somewhere in the alphabet of my heart, these symbols which never found shape, desperate still, on the brink of nothing, yet ripe with hope, gazing up from the gone.

 

broken on the floor.

what are all these dots

in the parquetry, impossible

to see when standing tall

and pretending to be

something

able to have a conscience

which doesn’t rot from misuse

or drive me to lose

everything.

so i fall, down in a mess,

and suddenly now see

all the little cracks and cuts

which have glared for so long

from the underbelly

of the shine.

they lurk somewhere

in the alphabet of my heart,

these symbols

which never found shape,

desperate still, on the brink of

nothing, yet ripe with hope,

gazing up from the gone.

 

=======