I wonder what it feels like to break.
Is it like a snap,
or a horrendous pop?
I wonder if I'll know when it happens,
or is it such a subtle thing,
so subtle one barely notices.
Have I already broken,
into the tiniest pieces,
so small and so intricate that some of the pieces turn to powder,
no one could ever find them all.
And if they did,
those pieces are jagged,
and would surely cut them to the bone if picked up.
I feel myself falling apart,
but don't mind me.
I'll pick up the pieces,
the ones that are big enough to see anyway.
I'll look like a paper doll,
with pieces taped together over my body.
And you will see me,
And you will laugh at the way my pieces don't fit together.
Nobody will want something like me.
A Frankenstein's monster of epic proportions.
And now I'm sure that I have broken.
And it didn't feel like a snap or a pop,
while that probably would have felt more pleasant.
Breaking is a slow descent into hell,
one that you don't realize is happening until you're there.
And I am here.
And I am stuck.
But don't mind me,
as I turn to dust.