What is the name for the feeling
Of being swept out to sea,
clinging to a jagged piece of your old self?
Migration always brings things back-
In time...
-full circle
A shadowy maw spits
Unfinished creatures squalling
to life from my chest
only to freeze and shatter in the morning sun
Burning is just like heartbreak - hurting until it doesn’t anymore -
But fish don’t cry;
They can’t,
Already choking salt water through camellia wounds gaping,
Swords rusting on a lake bed
Where they fell
Trampled through the forest of you-
Making room for rows and rows of boxes
All empty -
You needed the space to grow into something useful -
Pushing yourself out of the way,
A door cloven into a thousand dull fragments by an axe
Shining,
And swept out to sea to watch the
Walls, constructed, take shape-
Fish can’t cry even when they are burning in the lake
Blowing empty bubbles at an orange sword -
Pulled to the gaping mouth and deposited at the shore,
And chains of empty spaces take their home,
A conquest from within -
What is the name of this feeling?
Of being thrown overboard by your own hand,
Clinging to the last remaining piece of your old self,
Waiting for the gaps you left
to be filled?