Afraid To Fly
The parachute meant simply
to break my fall
is tattered and shredded
I spin and spin
as I come down too fast
to stop before I hit the ground.
My bitter demons,
so long neglected
come to feast on
those parts I believed
vainly to be less ordinary.
I crash hard
and they reacquaint themselves
with my tender flesh
as I watch the familiar torture.
They rebuild my mangled form
fashioning a mockery
leaving various parts
behind.
I am left to watch
my poor body stumble about
searching for the remaining tatters
of my parachute.
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