You desperately shove toothpicks where the other wing once fluttered.
Your futile attempt to repair what cannot be fixed fails.
You grasp no bearings through the deathly circles,
Other than brief glimpses of a life you once knew.
You panic at the thought of your inevitable crash.
You fear abandoning that which hope wished to save.
You know one wing will not work.
You cling to life in the crazy spirals and directionless freefall.
Your wounds unable to welcome repair,
Each touch a searing reminder of irreparable damage.
The familiarity your present ghastly caricature reflects
A graven image of the lie you lived.
Your most sensible solution involves jumping and parachutes,
But your desire and fear overwhelm.
You crave saving all hands before the plunge.
Is it no wonder you strive to cling to another despite the folly?
You own no wish to sift through dazed wreckage,
Only to discover jaded, disconnected shards of someone who once knew how to love.
You could also do without the cargo of lies, purchased over the years with the currency of your soul,
Raining down on your heart like non-explosive lead bombs.
You leveraged and borrowed all those years on hope –
Hope that time would heal all wounds.
Your wing lies limp. Broken. Useless.
Your hope may one day Phoenix into glorious rebirth…
But not this day…