Duct.

Confusion. Discombobulating.

Ups, God

 the ups.

Sunshine in chocolate pearls.

Royal suede eyes.

Nudge,      bite.

Reassure. Safety. Progress. Possibility. Time… slips.

Slip. Slipping.

But then, shaking..  

Sudden, heart dropping, sinking into dark, dank, dire unknown downs.

Doubt. heavy, regretting, dirty, poisonous… warm? Like fireball

WHIsky.

burns. stings. rips its way through solid walls.

Questions. Futile.

Repetition.

Repetition.

Over.

Again.

Rubbing our efforts

raw.

Worth it? No. Not now. Not when it feels like this.

Just 12 hours ago? Nothing felt more right.

Pain. Doubled over. Screaming, tearing, clawing it’s way through the layers. The layers we so often reinforce. “Duct tape fixes all!” they say. So we taped. We taped and taped and wrapped and ripped. Until we could pretend the holes had decided to pick up and find a new stomach to weaken. Thinking we could cover them completely. Thinking tape could grow, could learn to be living, breathing. Could fix. Could heal.

Facades. Closed doors. Whispers. Promises. Assurances. Words. words. ords. rds. ds. s. Vomit. Vomit and LIES.  Sickening. Cold. Clammy. Tunnels. Numb.

numb.

Worth it? 

                                                                                                               Has it ever been.