The frozen river,
Grey mist and cold air escape from little thankful lungs.
I hold your hand.
Your body walks beside me,
Our shadows blend to one.
On the outside your figure looks unscathed,
Your face is bare and clean, your eyes look out clear and blank and mild.
Your hands unclenched and loosely draped,
arms sway slightly from side to side as ballast
for the steps you take.
Broken though. Broken so very deeply.
So that every step your body takes,
you hear the sound of glass.
The ***** and jangle, the music of an utterly shattered self.
I hear you breaking, though you drown it in your headphones.
As you pass me in the street I hear the squelch of your shoes.
Soaked in your own blood so your socks are brown like mud.
And your eyes, they are unguarded as you gentley start to topple.
Vortex of pleaing pain and weighted silence.
A tornado of anguish inside your iris.
As you inhale, your scars are whiter than your teeth.
You pull me in, You want to grab me and beg for help.
For mercy, for release, for suffocation. But you have no voice,
Your tears are gushing but they don't feel wet.
You're flat, and shiny and utterly destroyed,
Beyond repair. The damage is done.
And so I release the mirror,
till our shadows blend,
and the blood is dried,
and the pieces scattered, and the shattered mirror will rest at the bottom of the river.
Only I stand on the bridge.
One body, not two.
Nothing to remind me of you.
But the shattered hole
in the frozen river,