Magic

I feel broken.
I feel broken for I am,
Broken.
Not beyond repair
Each part its name hasn’t let fade
Still dearly holding the map
To reconstruct the palace of self
Up to its spires.
Not burned to a sugary pile,
Not crushed to the guts
Of an obsidian hourglass
I still feel the time passing
But I don’t want to be there.
Words disgust me,
And the emotions I smoothly sailed
Make me seasick, white lipped
The vision blurred
To starry nights over bare concrete
The aphasic static puked from lips
Like wine at parties flows
And the vultures, and the crows,
Eye my crawling limbs
In this disturbed sunset
As they smell an end in me.
But I’m neither dead, nor dying,
Still here smiling, and trying
For I am
Broken, not beyond the gate
I let waves whisper to me
Dispersing their breath along
The ridges and creases of my curls
And in the ridges of the giant tear
Wetting the panicking lips
Of unforgiven ground
I drop my sinking blackdrops
Mend my shredded core
Let my sorrows flow
Through arms stretched,
Like cloudmaking chimneys
It’s not a ritual
Nor it comes from inspiration:
This process of purification
It’s in the stories of the drowned
Flowing
Yellow flowers sing their birdsong
Revealing their gay eyes
And I can hear them only ’cause
I’m broken
But slightly less.

(Yes, I’m alright, thanks <3)