A love that never was

Oh but I felt it
As we left it behind
getting cut
on the raw edges
not yet worn by time
or effort

Just a fresh feeling

The intensity with which we shatter,
Those what’s-left-of-us shards that cut you deep,
Brokenness and jagged edges matter,
When prices paid with pieces feels too steep.

Only two things cause our own destruction—
We’re broken from without or from within.
The damage goes beyond reconstruction,
We can’t build what we built before again.

Cracked into piles of debris on the floor,
The remnants of escaped emotion’s cage,
Whose seething burn couldn’t take it anymore,
Disposing of it disrespects its rage.

We’re broken so that something is released,
Those shards remind us what we have to do.
To put them back is just what matters least,
But don’t cut yourself making something new.

unbroken things lacking edges,
if we augment our eyes, look close
to see creted places
fractured into

jagged edges/
Jagged edges prove the brokenness

the brokennesses prove the whole,

not that the whole was finished then as it is now.

Which phor you living for?
Of course,
the discourse of madness
self-improvement

DIY gettin' past crazy for good.

There is a crazy place, way past any we imagine,
crazier than hell, by virtue
of the fact

ya' gotta go through hell t' get there.
Practically every sage from Moses to Mises,
says that's the price we pay

for ignoring those chances, op portune tidbits of time,
to pay attention to
everything at once,

and see what seers have always said's truistic,
we find what's sought.

If nought were sought,

what did we miss?

Missing
Nothing,
ought not that
be enough to carry on with
for now?

Fret not, oughts are nullifed here,
it's a pretty crazy place.
Nothing's broken.

I met myself
yesterday.
I was like
honey-mustard,
rich
and
tasted like gold.

My edges were
toasted
and
my feelings
color coordinated
wet without
the use of water.

But I realized
I no longer
wanted
to live
in my own mind,
not even
a second longer.