The Unconscious Narrative To Myself
by @srkemp
My fingers cramp easily enough
when there’s nothing
weighing them down.
My mind is numb at the first
black phantom offering
of hope;
always running from what could be,
preferring that nonthreatening illusion
while time goes by
so subtly,
just wilting away
today.
Still the broken won't heal
entirely;
I've learned it,
regretted it,
repeated it
too many times.
Though, it wasn't quite a broken bone,
but I wouldn't say it wasn't anything,
just a link
in the chain
that I wear as decoration
no longer bothered by the discomfort
of its weight
worn with pride
for its humiliation.
So goes my day
in the vacuum of time,
condemning everything to the irrelevant.