I crouch. 
It’s fear
and I have words, plenty but not enough…or not words, right. 
      So, I’m hunkering now in supposed safe haven, watching my own back
cause who else will?
          Split rhymes with spit, which is sort of how the word sounds, wrong
          somehow. Split heart, split tongue, split home, lickety split
                     hmm.
                      More than a crack – a chasm, cataclysmic.  But not really, right?
                                         Happens all the time.
So you think
                there’d be words….and I suppose there are, but insufficient to touch
                                             on….all this. 
                                                              They’re words you could eat.
                                                             The crash, the smash, the wrack up of the
                                                              tumble, of the final word which says, too
                                                                                                                robotically, there’s been a
failure…. in the system, in the program, in the house.
                                  So there you have it, get a new one.  These things happen,
folks.  Chisel out the cleaving, then the leaving. Clinging like ivy to the
                                   tearing asunder.  It makes no sense.  But no one said it
would.
A bond more than bruised-broken, there’s no mending.  The pierce of that
                               edge we can’t escape, the point of that no return.  It’s there we
                                                                 stand, surveying options, knowing now they’re
limited.
And yet, the end is only a term for this one thing.  There’s a beginning on
                                       some verge so maybe it’s best to just not draw this out
                                       somehow.  I haven’t been beat and you didn’t lose, we’ll
call it a tie.
Yeah, there’s a glow somewhere on the other side of this.  Maybe that’s
                                                              what calls.
                                                                          Crumple the papers but me, I’m
                                                                                                                     straightening out. 












“You have to hate someone to hurt them with lies.  Insincere talk brings nothing but ruin.”-Proverbs 26:28 GNT

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