FracturedA Poem by Cherrie PalmeraddictionI remember thinking, this is not my son, but who? This broken shell, no longer able to give me eye contact. Guilt I note, but that is another story I yet know of. Instability simmers, a slow wake trimmers, his emotions. A hinged jaw straps down the pending explosion, but for how long. He hides in his room to eat, or waits till everyone is asleep to gorge himself clandestinely.
To many nights on the streets. Too many hits of the pipe, and now body and mind are broken, soul and spirit stripped and splintered. Thirty-five, is to old, to run away, to old not to know the better path when a choice is given, but it is just old
enough to rush into the gates of Hell, with only remorse as a companion. © 2021 Cherrie PalmerFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
177 Views
13 Reviews Added on January 25, 2021 Last Updated on February 2, 2021 AuthorCherrie PalmerSpringfield , MOAboutI am a published poet and love poetry. After a lifetime of country living, I'm making a move back to town. I find my surroundings a great inspiration to me. I also have two books on Amazon Kindle: .. more..Writing
Related WritingPeople who liked this story also liked..
|