I drop a pencil, hear it crack. Pick it up. Listen to the core. Graphite snapped. Invisible. Inside. I press on it, write a sentence. Sketch a drawing, shade the grey. Use it. Broken. I know it’s done. Inside it’s shattered. A rattle, a clatter. Pieces fallen. Outside it’s fine.
Ice clinks. I drink one last time. Shivers run through me. Cold, a tear falls. All over. It’s done.
Blood splattered, a Jackson Pollock on the floor. Glass glistens, like fallen tears. I kneel on the cold canvas, hands busy. Picking, placing, moving. I tidy. A knock on the door.
It’s nearly your birthday. I try to ignore it, my heart pounding. Every year I worry, someone will see it beating fasting, someone will notice the tear in my eye. I don’t see you. The last candle blown out long ago.
I sit alone. Light off, door closed. Listen to the drumming rain at the open window. A breeze in an empty room, passes through me, not touching, not pressing, just there. With me. I breath a little easier. I breath.
Luke warm tea catches my tears
I drink still, gulping.
A thought wonders. A moment falls. A minute, an hour. Gone. I’m lost in time, thinking of you.
Morning silence, an unseen bird chirps alone. Grey skies stream through the window, the day a canvas for broken dreams.
as you colour, crayons sweepings, I dream of the ocean. The waves lapping. To and fro, in and out. A breath exhaled. A friend waiting. The salt on my tongue. Bitter.
A light on my bike, steers through the darkness. Pedals turn as I leave you behind. Winter drawing in now, the shadows breathe a little deeper. Air grips tight around me. A compress on my chest, crushes as I cry.