SCATTERED PIECES

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Screaming inside

A duplicitous monster

A chorus of chaotic faces

Crying for attention

Mother may I?

Have another please?

Turn on the tap

And let the blood run

Stand still while I look

Don’t move while I run

Like the names written

In spray paint on walls

Dripping, dripping, dripping

To the floor

Puddling and waiting

For the ground to fall away

I’ll see you here tomorrow

Same place, same time

And maybe…

Just maybe we’ll make

Better sense of this mess

Some semblance

Some structure

From the scattered pieces

That don’t seem to fit

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4 thoughts on “SCATTERED PIECES

  1. The image of fitting together scattered pieces evokes a never ending process for me. Even not so totally shattered, there always seem to be odd bits here and there wanting a place to fit, essential to growing-learning-healing. Hasty, your poetry always finds place to touch.

    Like

  2. It feels like all the people screaming and clamouring all at once, all so certain they’re right. I’m needing a still, quiet place, to watch and live small, and love who I love, until it all gets a bit less noisy. Sounds like you’re feeling something similar. Maybe.

    Like

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