Breaking Point.
Do I appear
stable
as my fingers
tremble?
I am
crumbling
under
the weight of infinity.
Stone crushed
beneath paper
sheets.
Nerves combust
in smoking crags,
but their fire
only forces bodies
into bedsheets,
limbs suffocating
under sloth.
How do you
grant life to limb?
Or restore
cracked marble?
I am crushed
mosaic,
where there once was
beauty, pulverized
into fine powder.