Bleeding Liquid Glass

Fri, 11/06/2015 - 23:23 -- HHelix

I wield a fist that has shattered glass, leaving in its wake

Shards strewn across the crimson splatter

lining the sink where I weep



sinking down into

An ocean of past blood in a War of the Worlds,

Culture bleeding through a face, shining through tired eyes,

Seeing a dearth of purpose among the jaded

While the real men and women bleed

But because I have not bled,

I am unworthy


Sobbing into the bathroom sink’s filling pool of water

This elixir of life feeds my body,

Composed of organic sinew pulling on the bones of





Elizabeth I into the tome of history, while

I am torn apart between the future of promise

And the status quo of perpetually being lost

Because where do I stand? I am humbled,

Beaten down, never knowing

Where do I fit like that missing

Shard on the mirror of my face, like that missing

Land splintering into the abyss of my future




If I fill that chasm, that empty crack in the mirror,

Denying the corpse in the mirror as I scream:

I know who I am and

I don’t know who I am and

I know what I do and

I don’t know why I do it and

I no longer know where I belong and

Even worse

I don’t know where I am going

While the Hemingways and Curies seem to know

While all I could ask myself is:

How did they know?


I envision those crinkled eyes

Of my older self looking back from

The other side of the same mirror,

Back at his youth’s naïveté, and I look at him

With earnest, as he stares through the past

Shattering the mirror again and finding

Which shards clicks into the hole


And maybe not knowing is alright

Because I still wield that proud fist,

bandaged and bathed in the wine of epiphany

Dripping onto the bathroom linoleum

Reflecting my niche

Between two worlds

And thus, I turn away from the mirror

And finally face the bathroom door;

The knob is always turning

As the blood flows on

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I would enjoy any form of feedback because I definitely want to improve my poetry writing.

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