Beneath the Wreckage


What to do when there is nothing left?
When the all consuming sense of defeat
Penetrates through each and every thought

The neurons fire “you have lost”
Body aches, not another step
Eyes burn beneath unrelenting flood of tears
and throat bleeds and throbs
when there are no screams left

Nothing but a fist
Clasp it around a pen and let it tremble
Let it savage the paper
May it bleed
May it shred to pieces
Put the pieces together
Let it reach the pinnacle and
dim into a murmur
Let the murmur trickle down through fingers
Trembling eagerly – reluctantly
Fist embracing the pen
Ink staining the sheet
Tears soaking the paper
Let the words fall as they do

The nonsense that pairs letters, words and sounds
In such way
May have happened before
maybe not

But perhaps there is still something left
Beneath the wreckage

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