Emotion bled her dry.
Wooden bones structured her empathy,
Fixing together pages of dehydrated parchment
Anticipating floods of jilted ideas.
Waiting for secrets to part with their silence,
And dust off fragments of shadows
As it unfolded itself for invasion.
That was the problem with the human condition,
You could never be impartial
While you still had a heart that could pity.
Someday’s the knives were bladeless.
Someday’s the knives only had rusted handles.
Nailed to a wall
Divinity tasted bitter
You took the blows
And forced yourself to believe,
That you preferred scars over bruises.
Bruises you could never comprehend,
As if the perpetrator cared enough
To stop before rupturing your veins.
Your emotions had always been a sink.
With a gaping hole and a misplaced plug.
Consistency was never an option,
Overdoses were all that could be delivered.
The bad overdoses outweighed the good.
On a day like today,
It felt like the dire overdoses were all there were.
All days felt like days like today.
You asked yourself where you contained it all
And why you weren’t overflowing.
Maybe you just never could
Because all the liquid pain would evaporate
And intoxication would remember reality.
You would remain broken,
Only to be scrutinised
And found incompatible.