Reverberations

Shadows of words

I’ve heard before
in scenes half faded
from memory.
the murmurs of truths
I used to know
in the days when I felt
like a finished work.

Now I take a seam-ripper
to my fresh stitches
as I attempt to recall those
millions of moments
when I no longer needed them.
When I was held together not
by such temporary means.

Delicate spun glass figurines
that are inevitably smashed
by those that carelessly handle them
and feel no remorse
when they hold the shards
of what used to be in their hands
they simply get back in line
to purchase another
with the rest of the schmucks.

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