wrought

My days collide
as atoms dressed
of gold and silver specks.

A drape of dust in
sunbeams hung
pick out abandoned flecks.

I count the hours instead
of making hours count
like precious bejewelled wrecks.

I touch the empty
gaps inside me
carved in tiny thoughts.

And scrape the blood
that’s dried and caked
on every pain I wrought.

I hurt like this
to make me feel
something more than nought.

I am
I breathe
I hardly know my name.

©lesservoice2008