Oh brain.
I am nothing but water and bone any more.
And little of even that, it feels.
Washed clean by time and life
Down to a fading molten core.
It’s hard not to be rattled:
Taking it on the chin so much.
Being the plow, the ice breaker prow,
the ax and trailblazer,
The front line. The head of the hammer. Bearing the brunt.
I wonder if the idea of a front in war,
Has anything to do with the word
Affront.
I keep expecting to hear a stick break,
The snap meaning someone’s footstep
In the distance. Someone coming.
I keep expecting him to come around the corner.
Or want to tell him all about this.
He’d love the gossip.
Or I feel sad and think how good it will be to see him next.
I keep forgetting.
I keep feeling the loss in new ways.
Or feeling similarities with old losses.
Echoes upon shadows of reverberating ghosts
My head hums with it all
The furnace in the house is struggling as much as my heart to keep me warm. It’s all I can do to stay present. Stay still. So as not to step on another branch,
Split off in another timeline,
Die already.
Why won’t this go ahead and kill me already?
I’m already both numb and raw,
Shattered and splintered and messy.
PJ's life review 