I tip-toe over cracks in the concrete
like glass hearts and chalk outilines.
when we were gripping
resolution. as if it were gold.
and my face went blank.

so this is what they call a breakdown.
half.words on fire for answers
and my hands were
tarnished.
some may call this falling apart
while these edges are
being ripped.

I can't stop cringing
over the sound of breaking vertebrae
fraying
nerves.
snapping vessels leaking
stray thoughts across my body.
it's no wonder my mind
feels empty.


yet. it's no wonder I still can't sleep at night.
bottles missing the message.
so I feel like spitting ink on the pages
I dream with.

It never quite. works.
and at the shattering of dawn
I have only
my ink-splattered cheeks
and a lost sense of
self-
explanatory
insomnia



to show
how much I miss you