Broken Tiles

You’ve got my head spinning so fast that it makes me dizzy. So dizzy that I fall to the ground my hands landing in the rips of the carpet that squares the tile floor. The glass and sheetrock staggered all around sifting and grinding under my fingernails. The blood rushing to my head and falling like droplets, but its not blood; it’s tears. The salt taste rest on my lips as they quiver from the scared that shakes my frame so.

But- I love all of you though, still I am left wondering how I can make a clean break, how can I run as far away to the corner of the world that floats beneath me. Yes I am flying, flying free, breaking free. Yet, I am still chained… to another predestined atmosphere. Will I ever escape this circle? This pattern? This every day life? Will I really break the cycle and go to where I was created? Or will I suffer indefinitely?

For once I thought that giving my all to someone would be easy but I have found that I want most of those parts of myself back. I don’t know who’s going to kiss you when I am gone. I don’t know who will be there to pick your chassis back up and put you back to pieces. We used to be the glue to each others broken pieces, but that glue has turned to opposite ends of the magnet. Pulling our pieces back apart, everything we have built, starting all over again. Every brick I lay as foundation… it gets torn down with words, actions, and ridicule. I feel so defeated. I lay my entire mentally beaten body down and fall back into the clouds. The clouds of denial. The soft clouds that bring stillness to my bag of bones.

I feel desolated, dejected. I feel broken more now that I have ever felt in my life. It’s hard getting that out of my mouth. Because trust me I have been through a lot. It sounds so dirty. I feel dirty, and used and broken and beaten. Yes I know I’ve already said this and I sound like a record skipping just when it gets to my favorite part. but, every time things are going great something bad always happens.

So I cuddle up with my pillow between my legs and one behind my head and one to hold onto throughout the night as I fall asleep and hope that I wake up tomorrow. Or do I? Hinds sight isn’t always so bright.

The second attempt

Tasha Geller-Hollingshead ©copyright 2016

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