It's in the wee hours when the darkness broadcasts the future.
Like a mirror dropped upon a stone the fractured reflections
Star outward and reflect the 'what if's. Is the biggest piece
The one that's most true? Each broken routine, goodnights
Typed instead of spoken, is like a shard picked up and driven
Into the skin. Is the skin the heart? If someone is thick skinned
They're tough and stubborn, unemotional. For those of us that
Cry when a shard of the reflected possibilities cut their breast,
Do we wear our heart on our sleeve or does it coat us like skin?
There are those who can wring us dry and then there are those
Who can make us wring ourselves from the inside out. Which
Is better? It could also be wondered, which is worse, the feel of
Brimming tears that burn and refuse to spill and quench the fire
They created, or the tightness of the skin that makes smiles crack
after the tears have already been shed upon the cheeks of those that
wish to smile, probably the feeling after, which reminds you of before.

09/27/2007

Posted on 09/27/2007
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