Crumbling
Did it used to be solid?
Did I used to be strong?
Or was I broken before I began.
Laughter
Something I no longer understand.
How can you smile in the face of death?
Worse, in the face of life.
Broken
By someone who is a part of me
The only part of me still standing.
Was I even me at all?
Life
A gift from those who broke me
A curse from those who didn't
Is there even a me for me to be?
Me
What an odd idea
Who am I?
Who are you?
Can anyone answer that?
Please, answer it for me.
So I have something to stand on again.
But it won't be my own
I have nothing left
Nothing to stand on,
There really never was
I was broken before I knew what that word meant.
Broken
It means damaged
Beyond repair
There is nothing left of me to fix.
So I don't
Instead of fixing
I break myself more
Until I am dust in the wind
From that dust,
I make ink
I write
I create myself until I exist again
Some days the ink isn't enough
I need the pen.
The paper
To write stories I needed someone to tell
Some days the paper isn't enough
I need a needle
My skin
To write the stories I need every day
But I'm young,
And ink can be permanent
I need the words everyday
But I can't have them
I can't talk about it
People think it's insane
So young wanting something permanent
Something I can't ever lose
Like I lost myself
If I cover myself in words
The ink made from fragments of my soul
It must be me
My broken pieces
Forming a collage
Making meaning again
Until I become myself
This is what I need
But it is denied
Because I am young
And it is permanent
But so are my broken pieces
So if I cannot use my ink
I will use graphite
Shading paper until it becomes my skin
If not graphite,
Light.
I will use light to create galaxies
No.
Not light.
Light comes from stars exploding.
I exploded long ago.
The light in me has long faded.
Darkness
I will use darkness to create galaxies
The entrancing dark between the stars
It holds everything in place
If I cannot be myself,
I will be the dark
Holding you in place
With the shadows of who I used to be.
YOU ARE READING
Crumbling From Within
PoetryI am. I am crumbling from the inside out, was there anything solid there to begin with? The cover is some art I found, and an image of a black hole, overlayed, and some editing, so it's not really my image, but I'm using it anyway.
