I am empty and un-obliged.
The familiar numb that hums inside of me
vibrates the tissues of my heart
and pulses out feelings like fingers.
I am tired, not in the skin but in the soul,
bone hollow. Cracked and marrow sucked.
Discarded with the wishbones and the gristle.
I want to break this routine of self pity
like a vase against a mirror
so that all the pieces are pain
and when I try and go for them again
At least I’ll feel something.
If I’m to make a life out of this mess
I’ll have to rebuild myself
out of the hollowness and the illusion.
And yet I’m waiting for someone else to fix me.
With tenderness and crazy glue
so for once I’ll be able to keep it together.
I just want to feel at home in my own smile
instead of smothering in the cloying down of misery.
I keep coughing up feathers like inspiration.
I just want to be happy.
