Vicarious (Prose)

Look at me, now look at you.

There is a difference if you believe it true.

A part of me has splintered.

…will I see it again perhaps in the winter?

Or maybe the fall?

Will it reveal itself if I came to call?

Will the splinter change colors like the leaves of the autumn?

Have I finally reached the bottom?

Did you know the vibrant colors are the colors of the leaves dying?

I fear you don’t hear me out crying.

Oh, but I’ve been crying all along, you just haven’t listened.

I’ve forgotten how to feel.

This scares me, is it real?

Is my pain your pain?

And if it is why in vain?

So much shame…is anyone to blame?

I think you know that person is you,

And if you know it, what do you intend to do?

I can’t keep waiting all my life, persistent debating.

Trying to make sense of what’s true.

I still can’t conclude…

And only I can tell myself what to do…

Speak now because I have forever held this piece,

But it isn’t truly mine and it tempts me, be weak.

May needs April’s rain in order to bloom.

Like the Spring turns to Summer,

I now turn to you.