Tuesday, July 22, 2008


Is it a cracked outer shell
or a broken heart inside?
It seems something internal—
heart bleeding out dry,
hanging on by hardened arterial thread.
something makes afraid,
whether for something real
or imagined instead.
afraid of a touch,
afraid of a word,
afraid of a feeling
so seldom heard,
afraid to evade,
or to pursue.
in some way so frightened
something might enter here.
Welcoming change,
but afraid of it, too;
seeking all the same
—I'm the only I'll blame,
hold it in silent shame—
don't quite know what to do.
In the past it was damaged,
broken black box or cracked
armor the image—
has it been renewed, replaced,
or poorly repaired,
hastily patched?
Somehow it's changed,
fits different now, for better or worse.
Is it a mask now, behind which I hide?
A shell or façade, still worn eventide?
A shade worn all times,
to hide nervous eyes?
Seems like a sham,
plying for pity,
expecting another to do all the work—
tho I can't see where I shirk—
so that in hard times
it drives me berserk
that drooped disappointment
always follows hope's perk.
No mere glass can show me where to look,
nor can I find in interior nooks,
the fault which eludes me
or a trail of blood
or a DNA trace
to figure the mystry
and solve it for good.

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