The shards of glass
Deteriorate as I grind them
Into the dust
Piercing the underfoot of my
Feet with a sharp sting,
Blister-ing
I sift through the slowly
Simmering sand of
My reflection
That pools before me
the dagger-like claws of
The past
Unsheathed as they slice and sink
Through the vulnerable skin of my back
Questions pervade my mind:
Dear god?
If only
The undefinable and unattainable
The unsatisfied and unsustainable
Need for knowledge
Was quenched
Queries and pleas,
“What-ifs” entrenched
In something other than
Self-doubt and fear
Prospective failure
And possible denial
Trampled by courage
And abated by the fire
Set afloat
on a boat
of Tears
The glass shards blur
Into an opaque window
That seeps into my soulful
Spirit
And suffuses my extremities
With an inexplicable and
Interminable
Lack of identity
So I ask you the question-
Who am i.
Spilled Ink 