Humpty Dumpty


Humpty dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpy dumpty had a great fall.

And as she fell, she had to wonder: why was she up there anyways?

She knew the wall was high.

She knew one day she could fall.

But she stayed up there netherless.

She thought she could manage.

How stupid of her.

And here she was: falling.

She wanted to stop.

She didn’t want to fall.

Which way was up?

Which way was down?

Could someone please tell her?

A clue?

A hint?


It’s scary.

It’s frightening.



“Make it stop”, she begs.

But no one hears her.

They’re all watching, staring.

All the king’s horses and all the king’s men.

Did they know that Humpty can’t be put back together again?

She begs to reach the ground.

It no longer matters if it’s the end.

As long as it stops.

Anything to make it stop.

She sees a flash, a blur.

A delusion, certainly.

It’s the point of impact.

She waits for the bright burst of point, the intensity of shattering.



She feels warm.

Big hands, warm hands.

Hands that hold her inches from the ground.

An unexpected end.

Humpty Dumpty lived after all

 “happily ever after”?

Maybe not.

The wall was forever out of reach.

But weirdly enough,

For some odd reason,

she no longer cared.




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