I am the skip of a disc,
a song stuttering and chirping
caught toe in carpet,
layer of ice on concrete,
wrapped ankles in lace
and hands holding wrists in place
and I am a mistake.
•
you hold me like I am complete.
•
I am a broken television,
crisp vision turned sour
and static burns the ledges
where I seep from,
when I sleep standing,
leave my corpse,
end up on the floor,
and begin anew
with the rise of the lights
and I am a mistake.
•
you hold me like that’s okay.
•
I can’t hold onto anything,
my fingers loosen
and my claws recede
and my hands swelter and pulse,
everyone leaves, eventually.
no amount of thick, black noise
escaping my tongue
could ever change that.
fate, god, nature and destiny –
intertwined in the way
that the world holds me,
and my struggle is fading.
•
you hold me
even though I don’t know
how to do the same.
•
12/23/18
