The descentPosted: November 1, 2016
It starts with the small cracks
pushes through the crevices, tiny ugly blobs, remnants
of unconscious sighs.
Tar-black and reeking
of discarded hope, it whimpers
snuggling into the wounds
like all the puppies you’ve lost as a child.
In moments of loneliness it whispers
Coaxes you to feed, to nourish yourself
From its dark, dreary milk and
You gnaw, half-hearted
Like you do at cold food
A day too old to eat, but too much of a waste to throw out.
It starts from within
Swirls of disappointment, internal chaos and black, black death
And before you know it, you are all topsy-turvy
Too mangled and ugly for anybody to save
Like a mouse hanging from cat jaws
Like a forlorn napkin, held by a single peg
Against a raging storm.