Ritual of Ruin
Written: August 18, 2026, for This Week's Poetry Challenge: No Letter E
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I long to find my locus in this vast world,
to curl inward and drift into dusk.
Lost, I miss all that is going on—
sobs scar my nights—now a ritual of ruin.
If I find a nap, I stir to dawn asking why,
all I wish: a warm, bright grin in bloom.
Trust runs thin—too many masks fall off,
nothing stays until truth is shown.
Cold tools bring a sharp sting,
but living cuts past all skin.
To cling or to quit—
both bring pain from within.
To long for a soul,
to watch that soul walk with that girl—
a sharp twist in my gut for what is not,
I clutch my truth, my passion, and try to talk.
My words miss, fall, go still,
what now?
To hold or to drop?
Both hurt, both haunt.
Thus, I sustain;
I hold you within my soul,
but it bursts my spirit—
all for a flash of junction,
a glint, a touch.
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