The Reminder.

This is the sound of Your child. This is the crack in the glass. Fragemented and  unpredictable; clawing desperately for a hand. i’m ripping from the seams – spilling over and underneath this battleground into the tiny crevices children’s hand can never reach. What good are old wineskins when they finally tear? If You could see me as i am, maybe a leech would be more fitting. Where does solace hide these days? i could swear i left it in Your care but it’s been so long, i don’t think i can remember. A chorus of angels cries “Hallelujah” over the empty hands of a vagrant like me; trading uncertainty with self-mutilation – shit for revelations. Oh God, the aftermath.