Never

I have fallen apart
in silence,
all the roads through my
brain building,
building, upon themselves,
streets twisting around each other,
adding dimensions,
filling all available space,
no time or room to think,
gridlocked dreams,
system shutdown,
stare into emptied space.
No escape.
I find a door, locked
and I search out the key,
high and low,
rivers and valleys,
mountains and oceans,
barstools, conversations,
and long, aimless walks.
I return,
I open the door,
but there’s another door, locked,
behind it;
I repeat it all again.
And I repeat it all again.
And I repeat it all again.
Proceed no further.

(I have fallen apart before
in cymbal crashes, echoing notes
spreading across the town,
vibrating forks,
smashing windows,
smashing into people,
broken dreams
on a well-lit stage.)

I have fallen apart
in silence
and I often wonder if it’s
worth it anymore,
but for some reason
I keep concluding it is.
I have fallen apart in silence
because I refuse to bother
anyone else with me
when it comes down to it.
I have fallen apart in silence
because there’s some things
I just can’t control
even though I wish I could,
because there are parts of myself
I don’t expect ever to like again,
because it’s the best way to take
punishment.
I have fallen apart in silence
because it was all
that I could do.

I tire of reassembly.
I usually keep on.
I’m missing
something huge.
There are many things
I could once do
that I can’t do anymore.
There are many things
I try, still, to do
that seem entirely purposeless
now that
I have fallen apart in silence.

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