TJ (17th June 1958 / England)

Faultline

Shot.

Don’t think I’m dead.

[Checks self for signs of entry or exit wounds]

No Blood.
Not yet.
Too soon, I guess.

[Blood takes a long time to well up from the soul]

Different.
Feel different.
Something living lopped off the family tree.
Felt it crack the length of my faultline –
Spirit torn from flesh before its time.

[Eyes too hot, too raw, too dry for tears]

Felt it fall,
Fall free of me,
Fall headlong, slow and silently screaming
Into the black beyond redemption’s reach.
No echoes, reflections, reminders, recollections.

Less.

Shrunk.

[Not missing a bit of me at all, but a bit of all of me, that’s all.]

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