i cannot handle your mess right now


                                                     - i have my own wreckage to take care of

An angel
wrapped in gauze.
Lying still
on coarse,
unmoved sheets.

Soft,
tender skin
pulled tight
over blood
and bone
by taut stitches
pierced through
the wreckage.
My angel.

Surrounded
by colour,
bright flowers
that fill the room
with a sweet odour
as they die.
I tell myself
that I can't
smell her too.

The sun
streaming in
through the window
is too hot,
but she shivers.
Now and then.
Her eyes,
so bright
when she looks
at me.

I touch her hair,
and whisper
in her ear.

An angel
wrapped in gauze
prays to a god
she's never seen.

I hold her hand,
long after she's let go.

Is this all you wanted?
Well, it’s all you’ve left behind.
Is this how it’ll be?
Well, it’s what you’ve left

For me.

I basked in the light
Of the present moments sight
But all of a sudden
Your words triggered a bitter memory
And now I want to visit an infirmary.

But oh wait this can’t be bandaged to heal
For it is a resurface from a wreckage.
It crawls from the breakage
With a clinging message
that causes landslides
and scrapes my insides.

My thoughts collide
as my emotions become tide.
My lips become sealed
As I no longer want to speak.

But then I’ll lose my mystique
And become invisible;
Vincible
In the hands of my shadowy past.

I painted the pollution in the sky with my own blood
I was proud
So I sat below it, as it dripped back down
Puddle by puddle
I can see what it was that pain passed on
The pollution of my own wreckage
Thick, it choked my breath
I stress over my own twisted toxins
Carrying the weight of me
On my back

Back home.

for now I don't want to know where I just came from
nor how long it's been
I don't want to picture the blisters nor the bleeding
nor smell the fumes
I don't want to remember the flood nor how the leak
was sprung
I don't want to hear about who perished and who survived
nor think about who might still be threading water
for now
the dead will have to bury the dead
the sick will have to tend the sick
the broken will have to help mend the broken
and themselves
as we do, as we must do
for now
I don't want to know about who fired the first shot
nor whether or not I'm going to drown in this life raft
for now
the foghorn, the light house, the shore
the lapping of water beneath me
for now
the foghorn
the light house
the shore
the lapping
the shore
the light house
the foghorn
the lapping
the water