Fractures
10/9/2023
i know i am capable of loving
i can feel it when i’m in love
whether it’s with the warmth of a hand in mine, a colorful leaf falling from a tree, a connection transcending through the windows of our irises, the feeling of being held, contained, anchored
the way we finally collapse into a synchronous dance
and fade into foggy energy, colliding and mixing
but how am i supposed to know when and what kind of love it is?
and how am i supposed to know whether it’s real?
can i trust you? (following text should be upside down) can i trust me?
there’s a lot of internal, machinery dissertation
wanting to follow fragments of heat, yet stay hidden
it’s so fleeting
i find myself in other people
it’s like looking in the mirror but the mirror keeps cracking
or maybe my vision is just a bit blurry
like a picasso painting
limbs torn off and stitched back on in mismatched placements
gears turn inside my chest, mechanical parts move desperately, monotone
and all i want to do is reach through that reflection and touch my hand on the other side
instead i just keep banging my fist against the looking glass
an endless maze of lost reflections, pained stares
and my fingers don’t feel like they’re attached to my body
only numbness when the skin tears
i only vaguely notice the blood dripping from destroyed knuckles
shattered shards of statued appearance
a voice echos in the lull of a warm pulse
is it possible to reach you
(following text should be upside down) if my feet never truly touched the ground?
Copyright © Beck Mensoff | Year Posted 2023
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