I sit hunched over Scrambling to piece together what once was. The image, shattered reflective jigsaw shards Of pond ripples; Cracked, distorted, and serrated.
The image forms a new holy land, And just as soon as the window is formed, The puzzle itself crumbles the ground beneath me.
I fall. Clutching my completed goal, I fall. Deeper into the darkness, I fall. Silently craving the deafening roar of steel shedding bone and flesh, I fall.
And the problem isn't falling. I just don't want to be falling. I don't want to go back to before my puddle of grey matter Slowly shoved each piece into place. And at the same time, Landing isn't appealing (not consistently, anyway). Falling is almost like flying, Only without having any idea of how to stay in the air. Maybe one can learn, yes, But it usually ends the same.
So, I will fly temporarily downwards, And make peace with My splat.