Face in the mirror

standing,
in knee deep clutter
of broken pieces of
the face in the mirror

the parts,
that the image of myself
has separated into,
falling,
have jagged edges that cut

scattered junk crappy poetry
and still born prose
while the sun starts to begin to start to set on my days
im still frozen, like a deer in the headlights

and u flew dancing by
gaily coloured carousel
father son holy friend
burned my eyes to watch u gaily spin

achingly, bleedingly
ringing wind in hollow walls of my heart
so runs through my head screeching ... the fatal desire
to let go and fall

look over the ledge
shaking hands, grip the edge
on and on the voices run
let go. hang on