British Invasion

There is a storm

where my mind

used to be;

there are fissures  

in the memories

of the people

in my life.

In.

My.

Life.

My soul is a

porcelain doll,

fragile and incomplete;

or a door off the hinge

letting out

the little girl 

I was not allowed to be.

And my heart

my heart

my

heart.

Blistered and beaten 

from the inside,

beating;

pushing oil

to the surface 

of my blood stained face.

It's one hell of a ride

being me,

like some unsung lyric 

in a Beatles song.

Or perhaps,

just the thought of one.

Reviews

[Misery]

That moment of conception gives each of us one life, one precious life; but sometimes it's just not enough.
So we each end up with our one non-exchangeable life. Hang in there, poet, and hang on to that one life, because there's nothing else to latch onto.

Keep sharing your sweet torments and bitter joys, if it helps at all.

[Silver]

WOW That was so powerful writing

[Willard Wells]

Very sad tale of a painful life. I hope sharing helps work out the past. Well written with true pain and feeling coming through. Thanks,

[mattavelli]

Strong emotion in this. And the layout really works.

there are fishers (fissures) seems to fit. 
in the memories
of the people
in my life.

Thanks for sharing.
Thanks for sharing.