Slip

He feels hollow, imperfect
this place inside him
that isn’t there anymore,
but the outside never was.
He doesn’t have all the things he needs
to feel whole,
but he doesn’t have anything
else to make the best of it.
One quick slip and you’re somewhere
you never intended,
never really wanted

and you have no way out,
because you don’t even know
how you got in.
He feels empty; he feels broken.
He feels unwanted, unloved,

disconnected.

Always wrong, everything’s always wrong
in his head in his hands.
Can’t do anything right.

Can’t even be himself
right so what’s the point
anyway? It hurts
in ways he doesn’t have words for
yet. It hurts
like the ragged ends of broken
hearts. It hurts like being torn
along a poor seam.
Put together badly,
what do you expect?
What do you expect from a life
you didn’t live well?

He didn’t know anyone
could cry this much

and still
be here.

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0 Responses to Slip

  1. Trent Lewin says:

    Poetry too, Jones?

Go ahead -- say something. Anything.