Familiar Cracks

I bring flowers

to my own grave.

My poor innocence

lies buried dead.

The days are tough

but kind.

Then the night

takes over

and my strength impales.

This today fades.

My eyes are open,

but memories are all I see.

I know this.

This crumbling.

I break again

along familiar cracks.

And my pieces

cut against me.

And I hurt,

so much

but cannot cry.

Every day I live,

And every night,

every single night,

I want to die.

I have

been here before,

as I am here,

everyday.

And yet,

wouldn’t change a thing.

Wouldn’t have it

any other way.

Something about

this night

feels alright.

Somehow this

silent evening,

feels complete.

I was

a broken poet,

with broken lines

And

this would be

a broken poem

with broken rhymes,

about

a broken world

in broken times.

But hope heals,

what grief broke,

and light fills

this dark abode.

Melancholy, fear

be crystal clear

your long damn

run is done.

My dad is

a pistol, dear.

And I am

the son of a gun!

14 thoughts on “Familiar Cracks

Add yours

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: