Stricken Little Moments

One foot out the door,
The other in the grave
Knew it was over then, before and after
Many stricken little moments;
Still I hung on
These threads are all there is some days

As I hung, all bled away
Icy grip on my heart
Fire in my belly,
As I dreamt it
So it was;
The question which haunts -
How much of me dies?

All beyond repair
Now so many tainted memories
Suspicions proved true
Solid was my sight,
Yet when it came
I had no defense;
Another lie,
Forewarned is not always forearmed

So damaged
The truth hit home
Then home was gone
There is no us
Adrift, lost
I cannot contain
Obliterated as it were;
Had a glimpse
Then nothing more

Unsure of everything
Certain of nothing
A candle in the light does no good
So I could not escape this fate;
Knowing that which is to come
Does nothing to ease the pain

Bits of a dead heart
Strung together by the barest of thread,
Burned destruction through my mind
Broken trust into scattered ashes
How does this repair?


© Christina Nabity
Written December 29, 2011