Still

I throw/ scraps of myself/ into still waters/ hope/ that the ducks will come/ and be my friends/ cautiously/ they gather/ scrabbling at my discarded pieces/ in futile belief/ that they can make me/ whole/ but I am stuck/ in a dead end town/ where empty shops/ mirror/ its empty ignorant heart/ and my own heart/ weeps softly for release/ for something more/ than this place

And at night/ when the black dog growls and keeps me/ awake/ barking its contempt/ at my pathetic existence/ I choose to ignore/ and so try/ and win the fight/ so when finally/ the eggs hatch/ and I emerge/ not newborn/ born anew/ renewed/ the same as before/ but altered/ a patchwork quilt/ of who I am/ of who they need me to be

Your face/blurred/ once through tears/ now through time/ no longer matters/ serves only as an anecdote/ a tale of the man/ I used to be/ before I fed the ducks/ and stared into waters/ still/ running deep

You could, if you wanted to…

You could de-construct my pieces,
find your way inside.
Tap at the stone
that replaced my heart;
hope to hear an echo.

You could climb into the abysm
that used to house my soul.
Close your eyes in its darkness
find a memory of before.

You could creep into my mind;
find the joy that someone stole.
You could.
I wish you would.

But you won’t.