You would think, maybe
I have nothing left.
Lost to everything
in shade shuffled me.
Silhouettes inherit remembered
synapses stifled at touch.
But still I might,
perhaps, in hinting wonder, want
that girl I lost… can just imagine
now barely existing.
If only tossed, a thin line thought
to the possible already past.
Dangled gently in my purgatory.
A soul passed over. Quiet,
cracked in glass. Quivering,
kaleidoscoped in moments. Barely
forgotten in years ago
shattered from time’s waste.
And so, now, here
stoic in sliced silence
lay claim to splintered bones
there final endings could be
beyond an arm’s stretch – a finger’s touch;
the happenstance of chance.
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