Tag: depression

i am splintered apart

by lightening strikes

the traveling lights crawling up my spine

my hands of brittle pottery

can’t hold much without cracking – can’t write much

without shattering

the sturdiest structures

can bend in the breeze, sway with the winds

and the shifting cartography,

or else sink

into the hungry sea

whose many mouths are always open

and waiting to receive me

there’s an i

that i’ve torn from my life, a letter

i’ve ripped from my name

what’s missing

beyond the perforated edge

there’s presence, then there’s absence – there’s before,

then there’s after.