I still feel split
In two
And spilling
As if you left
Just yesterday
Took all my guts
As weaponry
You went to her
With spoils of me
But both agreed
Your hands were clean

Oh there are days
I stay up late
To sew and stitch
The seeping stops
Rough pieces fixed
Held by grit
And weathered thread
But I always fray
My skin seems not yet
Leather made

I am too soft
Sewn edges rip
The thread intact
But flesh is split
So I just dress
The emptied hollow
Halves of me
I shove my parts
In pants and sleeves
Cinch and button
Up and bleeding
My hands a mess
But form resembling
This encased undead
Shape of


Painting: Tired, by Christian Kroger

~ by April on October 16, 2019.

One Response to “Split”

  1. ah, April, I send all my love to your bloodied, sew-y wounds; I really am, sorry

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