there's no progress report for this.
no checklist, no itinerary,
no template to restore order
in the aftermath of your tornado path through my heart.
the chaos is powerful and uncontrollable;
i can only watch the person i was with you crumble away
and sweep up the dust.

sometimes i take inventory:
am i eighty-five percent guilt today,
or thirty-nine percent confusion?
or fifty-four percent loss,
or one hundred percent ache,
hot salt water springs bubbling up
from just a brush with the magma burning below the surface?

dust is beginning to settle on the box of our memories that i hid away, where the twister would never touch it.
if only there was some way to give time through an IV,
because i don't know what to do with this heart-shaped stone in my chest.