06/03/2014

Discards

Things are colder when you’re waiting
The glacial air bleeds its bitterness over me
Cocooning me in dense hollowness
That preoccupation couldn't cut me out of.

You are the parts of my skin that are untarnished
By shards of ice shot down at me from the Gods
I am metal scraps of a person contained in a shell
If you shake me hard enough by the shoulders, I rattle.

When I fracture apart, slash me into smaller pieces
And throw my scraps into the closest river you can find
So I can rest at the bottom amongst my discards
And stare eternally at the liquefied sky.