cannot tell
if the world
itself feels
bound by
fragility
or if my
latticework
soul has just
crumbled in
upon itself

on my knees
scrubbing
desperately
to remove
the stains left
from the last
meltdown
as the next one
begins flaring
an inconsistency
of palsied letters
scrawled upon
languished lividity

hyperactive
to the point of
cramping each
unused muscle
in a failing
vessel of sadness
a photonic flashing
sifting through
the emotional
wreckage strewn
over relapsed coral
regurgitated ambergris
a cancerous mass of
dreamslurry and tears

there is naught
but echoed sorrows
permeating
the membranes of
the walls built
to provide some
half assed relief
from the elements
attacking the very
fragility of my
latticeworked soul