Thread to the tatter, used and worn.
A shape split by lips, from callus to thorn.
a foundation of glass, with such slippery signs.
a new blistering
from aurora to aura, the flashes seep through,
not an hour goes by, without tilting the view.
an old stain resurfaced, a gravestone debased,
a scream scars the silence, of such a miserable waste.
Oh, this man is a joke, and his premise is thin.
His girl sits in his lap, snuggles close into him.
they are slipshod and rubber, they stretch and snap into place
in their house of cardboard, a home of borrowed space.
The tatter, still there. A reflection of time,
what is ash once was caustic, horrible and sublime.
I say, "So this is your function." -- a tumor of regret.
Generated so softly, we could not see the threat.
of the symmetrical holes, the many headed thorn,
where there once was compassion, now fear, anger and scorn.
Thread to the tatter, naked and torn.
From where the wound came, where the heart was stillborn.
As the day approaches then passes, the good Doctor is scared.
He calls every night, to make sure I'm still there.
I say, "Where's the justice in this? Just compare and contrast!"
he says, "There are two train wrecks here, just one slow and one fast."
He says, "You need do nothing, life will intercede,
just sit tight and above all, continue to breathe."
I ask him, "How can you know? How can you be so sure?"
he says, "It's just human nature. How can she not be her?"
I say, "What of time's magic healing touch?"
he says, "At best it's a band-aid, at worst it's a crutch,
When the wound is this deep, it can do only so much."
"It could be days, weeks, months, years unaware
but the bliss will be poisoned," "by the angry girl in there."
Thread to the tatter, dear beloved, beware
for her heart too will be broken, by the angry girl in there.
All the kisses and footsteps and candles and cake,
in the span of a year, a wedding and a wake,
a new home and new love, new work and new friends
and the seeming beginning of where the bad luck streak ends.
but the scared little girl, with blood and tears on her face
will lash out and arise and proceed to lay waste.
Whether it takes just months, or many a year
the angry girl will surface, and make it all disappear.
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