there are cracks in my existence —
chips and tears in time and essence,
these rigid bones too sparse to hold
all my eyes have witnessed.
the moments strung in sense and sorrow —
fraying at the ends,
and soon the thread will slip right through
the seams I strained to mend.
like fractures in the concrete,
the ground my feet rely,
bent and broken once too many
times will warp my mind.
what dust that may remain
by my second ruptured day
will fill the earth and teach the world
how not to treat a life.