Composure

I hack my self out
whenever I open my lips
wide enough to speak.

Her ghostly frame, silent

as she falls and tries to climb 

back in, 

but my mouth is full of words.

Full of menial phrases

and half-forgotten sentences

and false promises.

I wield them like a sword
against my lowly self,
scrambling in my wake...

Drowned in my craft,
whittled at by my notions,
discarded by my solitude.

But yet she holds me,
presses her chest to my back,
locks her arms round my torso.

Whispers forgiveness in my ear,

and tells me to be silent, like her,

so she can come back in.

~ written March 2025