I have spent so much time sifting through the wreckage.
Fondling these things melted together,
pulling them apart they wont come apart.
Their was something here once.
It was more than than knee high remnants.
This smell of charred up everything
makes everything grey.
This photo album was halfway spared.
I want to open it and I am so scared.
So much of what was here has burned away.
So muck left unsaid so much I will never get to say.
I always said I am a survivor not a victim.
And I lied.
I would stand up later.
But way back then I couldn’t speak the truth
There are two things that means.
I didn’t even know that this house was burning.
And I could even put words to all this yearning.
I can say that its this place that isn’t what it was meant to be.
But the thing is that this wasteland is me.
Those big moments aren’t so big after all
There were no little moments after all.
I need there to be some way I might have avoided it.
I need it to be that there was no way I could ever have avoided it.
I’m seeing now
its all part of the whole.
I am seeing now
its all part of the hole.
So I will leave this place
if I can leave this place.
And I know that I have to
leave this place.
I could ever