Inside And Out

The bleak disaster
of what you have attempted
is all around you.

A cage of flesh,
too-tight fitting,
holding against you,

suffocating,
weak and trembling.

Broken bones are easier,
faster on the mend
than broken hearts.

Hearts don’t break, by the way —
they rip and tear,

and then don’t grow back together,

and have you ever tried
to superglue something wet?
Doesn’t work.

Blood
everywhere.

Cold
inside and out.

Red and black
like some terrible,
ineffectual game of chess
where we have only pawns
and the kings were never on the board.

Everyone
eventually tells you
you deserved it.

Everyone
eventually tells you
it was your own fault.

Everyone
eventually shows you
what they really mean,
if you give them a chance–

–so stop giving chances.