I  may have crushed all the delicate
Crap
of my soul

that "ever yearning for you"
that washes up on window panes  

the constant deflation,
cowering
chained-up-into-deep-corners-of-destruction-and-self loathing pain.

I plummet face first into the ground.
scuffed skin splintered with stone, a few broken bones,

and a nervous chuckle
are the first breaths of liberation.