Count down for me 3..2..1 Sleep. . . . Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Open your eyes, Take the shot.
Dimly lit, shed the tears.
Weak Afraid Lost Confused
Beep.
Mother’s here Don’t leave me, dear
Beep.
Did we win
Beep.
You took the shot.
Beep. Beep. Beep. 3..2..1 Sleep.
This started with the image of tiny melancholic glass shards tinkering to the ground, perhaps as though in defeat. That image was condensed into a single word, shatter. And from there the poem grew.