Ficly

Void

I wonder if I write
random fragments of
poetry and
words,
that something somewhere deep within
the crevices of my long forgotten mind will
snap
and
click into place, and
the fragments will find a way to fill the
void
and
somehow close the portals and holes of my psyche;
if somehow
she will be banished and my mind will
be my own,
or if it’s long gone, taken over… and
where is my mind?
The countdown ticks on
the detonator buried
deep
within my soul, so far as
I can not dig it out, not
even with a long handled coffee spoon
nor a blade sharp as those words.
No acid will burn through the wires that carry
life around my body.
Try as one may.
But maybe, just maybe,
the blast will remain internal.
Reformat and reorder.
Omissions and revisions.
This, perhaps, is the start of
the end.

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