Doubt

Small sharp knives sink into soft flesh

Delete key worn and covered in dirt

Lost in hesitation

Check the mirror time and again each time finding flaw

I look down at the dull red organ in my hands

Flattened, misshapen, missing bits given away

It beats in weak rhythm

Strength ebbing like low tide

There is no line waiting to receive

No picking

No choosing

I thought, for a moment

Something beautiful whispered in my ear

I must be mistaken

There is nothing here.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s