everyday
the fractures
widen as
anxietal carcinogens
waft turgidly upon
the eerie early
morning breeze

when i say
i need space
it doesn’t mean
a few hours
between chats
it means i need
to scatter the
pieces across
the cosmos
until my broken
glimmers into
constellations
with which to
rebuild the mythos
where everything
is okay once again

casting a net spun
from emotional
monofilaments with
which to catch a
fleeting glimpse of
hope amongst these
derelict daydreams

a human jenga tower
where every new prodding
pushes stability into
a centrifugal demise
teetering over time
until one gentle push
is enough to send me
scattering into the abyss

i have been told i use
my mental illness as an
excuse or a crutch to
excuse my shitty behaviors
i cannot argue it even if
it isn’t my intention
i know every inch of my
broken and have learned
due to necessity how to
navigate the open sewers
chained down by bipolarity
and borderline confusions
but not how to dull the
edges of the fractures
nor how to verbalize them
beyond oft ignored warnings

still the ever widening gyre
does nothing but expose a
rendition of misunderstandings
which crash and trample leaving
fields of wildflowers scattered
scaring away the sparrows until
there is nothing left but to
sift the silt for the scattered
seeds of sanguine sorrows

you cannot
sanitize insanity
without scrubbing
away the scars
which define us
nor can you
incentivize sanity
in a world gone mad