A Metaphor For When

stones in her throat. fetch steps to oblivion. worms in her head. parse its random isotopes.

there is nothing whole. only the sand in her shoes. as she surveys the edge of the world. the perimeter is vast, but inside it everything is small. a swarm of acquiescent fragments manipulated by the momentum of their frenzy.

the rigid horizon cradles her angels. the science of want is the devil's chessboard.

the burnt wood. under the mantle. dares not forget the flames. cold as it has become. the ladder stilted. the voices dense. on the stage. where half-hearted hamlets rage at plastic skulls. timid soliloquies smothered by their rage.

each word a razor blade on her lips.

so much to say.

before that fickle curtain closes.