glue
surging toward the cliff
you scream,
“it’s all falling apart”
i can see it
fissures of pain on your face
ancient canyons carved
around your eyes, and mouth,
and heart
grabbing the glue,
i gallop along behind
“i fix things”
i shout into your void,
a dervish whirling,
the cliff looming.
it is my job.
“wait! the weight, i can bear it”
see my pack, pregnant
with other broken things i couldn’t deny?
but you belong to the precipice,
captive to its siren song
at the edge
you don’t hesitate
and my desperate fingers
close around nothing
as you disintegrate
into dust beyond repair
*dedicated to all the other children of mental illness,
trapped in servitude to the broken.