I sit here so alone
I sit here
Cold steel comforting me; the strength in my index finger is all that is needed to escape when there's nothing left, to open the way out
Like the very last leaf clinging to a tree branch against the onslaught of fall-the vanguard for winters' march
Broken in the wind
I feel weak
Frail
I've given my strength to the years
The years have taken from me with indifference; having no obligation or debt for all it's claimed
The years requite only one thing to me as payment for the benign innocence of the youth it has reaped
Even now while I'm writing this, it can be heard in the softest breeze on this warm November evening.  
It passes by and lightly wipes a tear from my face as it leaves my  once-beating heart  
In doing so  it whispers gently in my ear:
    “Tomorrow the Sun will rise, my child.  Tomorrow will be new”
Unequivocal truth
Though my heart no longer beats and that final piece of what made me me is quietly forgotten by a new world that will see the new light of an old day-
and somewhere a bird will chirp and sing
Two siblings, years estranged, will discard their resentment and be reunited, joyfully reminiscing of happier times long-since passed
A Mother will comfort her crying child
A beloved pet will pass away leaving those that depended on it lost and distraught
Someone will fall in love, and come to the realization that they were incomplete until just then
You will finish reading this
In doing so a piece of what I was will live on forever


Thank you

,how do you know when
(a human is too broken?)



<•>

human too broken?

like the light bulb, removal from its fixture, a simple shaking revelation of the tinkling filament spent, something that cannot be repaired, the only option is replacement and that makes
you cry

the empty box of oatmeal raisin cookies, you find secret’d,
hid by you, not to be found by you
at the bottom of the kitchen garbage,
but box betrayal, by the chartreuse tipped box lid sided
peeking upwards, asking, silencing screaming,
what did I do to deserve
this degrading

like the blouse now too tight that it brings stares as the buttons strain, unwelcome attention unintended,
you know it but still pretend not to see,
for you both once loved that silky guise that so
heightened the high tender, the match of your pink rose skin letting, no! making
your eyes glisten, like broken filament glass, on the sidewalk,
recalling the pleasured admiration,
rain remembered from the
prior priority of a life consisting of only
perfect gifts

so mean revert to the poseur question; this is how...

remove the human from a fixed place, whimpering-threatened,
you may hear clear the crackle cackling  of the innard shards against the misperception of a body intact,
even if you do,
no repair service you want,  can be found, see it nowhere,
is it even
anywhere advertised?

the body presumed intact is secret’d under a tactile coverlet,
holey scupperrd holy cuttered
so that the cells and bicuspids, the threads
no longer function in a tandem,
you keep it in the closet closed,
in the back, deep hid, where,
when it screams why,
it can be safe ignored,
because  ‘betrayed’ is no longer a word,
in your globe's dictionary,
the parental controls activated by you to
save your own inner child’s unconstrained confusion,
it has been removed


so the broken glass, the clothes you dressed each other,
if not weep-well,
well enough hid,
the fit is off,
the fit is off,
the coverlet ripped so bad and neither cares