I am barefoot on shattered glass,
Bleeding from the shards stuck in my feet.
I reach out to you,
Who will never meet me,
Who will never know me.
I spit blood
From the holes
Where the teeth,
I spat out,
After taking,
The punch,
That put me,
On the ground,
Used to be.
I try to push myself up,
To my feet.
I reach out to you,
Though, I will never know you,
I will never meet you.
I brace myself again,
Ready for the impact.
Dead on my feet,
Entombed in myself.
I can’t carry on.
I must carry on.
I pick the shards from my soles,
Fit my teeth into ****** holes,
I know that I will never meet you,
I will never know you.
The tears like rain,
Water fallow ground,
As I reach out again,
To you,
Who will never know my name,
As your name dies,
On my bruised and ****** lips.
My wife and I experienced a miscarriage recently. Poetry was a balm. Existence was hell.