Pieces broke away, pebbles and stones chipped from a boulder. The edge of a pane of glass broken off, no longer smoothly square, but rough ridged like a broken thumb nail, begging to be filed away.
Pieces broken away, missing in wordlessness, cannot be found. Jig saw together the rest, glue, duct tape, what is left, never to imitate new, unbroken.
Broken, hollowed parts, make for an ever incomplete, an always abyss to fall headlong into, always a scratchy roughness to scrape a knee, an elbow, a hand. Always a sharp edge to slice open an abdomen, an arm, a femoral artery, a throat.
No. No. No. Everything, everything at once, best kept at arm’s length. Never can such wounds be allowed in the here, in the now.
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