Pieces

The density of moments

The kind marked with gasps

Or hard swallows

Those that sink you into the earth

Or tear a gaping hole into reality

The light of the present

A distant dot

As you fumble along

Dark disorienting walls

The jagged wounds

Of realization

Breathing through smoke

Hearing through water

Even tears won’t come

Until the present returns

Searing, blinding

An apocalypse of personal proportions

That make the world seem a synthetic cover-up

A foreign wasteland

Sucked dry of its beauty

As if dashed upon rocks

Seemingly impossible to rebuild

with the scant shards left

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