I am unsure
I am unclear
I tread like a footless ghost through here
I am opened
I am empty
Filleted heart made of hollow filigree
I am emboldened
I am infused
With a ferocity that I’ll sooner die before I lose
I am embittered
I am resigned
To this deepening slumber of heart and mind
I am disgusted
I am relieved
By a brain-foggy blanket of false security
I am accepting
I have denied
The long line of emotions still collecting inside
I am in mourning
buried inside myself
I don’t know how to reach out to anyone else
I am the question
The answer is gone
I am the shadow in the shine of the sun

6 thoughts on “Filleted.

  1. Simon says:

    You don’t have to reach out if someone reaches for you…

  2. JunkChuck says:

    I hate to give a wise-ass comment to a good poem, but my first thought was: my mom is a borderline hoarder, so I’m clearly good as fucked–all is lost, cause she can’t find any of it (though she knows it’s there, somewhere…