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the pieces fall
this is where you find me
here I am the conceived mind disguised
old wounds filling with ponderous salts
my nasty gash still in this blood
not abolishing any ideas nor terrors
a calloused hand tight on my throat
is this
where the grievances begin and the brackish tears end
these moments of breaking
letting the pieces fall
wherever they will
such jagged intensity
I would not be surprised if the pen you used to write this was bleeding too.
Thanks for posting this.
A New Reality
A hard look at a life lived. The end is not what we expected; but we live with it as the "pieces fall". Well said - allets -