I might imagine
that I look a certain way
a carefully crafted facade
not fully done at the seams
whether it be nails
or string
or fine silk thread
that I use to keep it together
it is faulty material
and it is not working

Things
grotesque unsavory and unflattering
Things
leak out, ooze forth,
staining and spotting and spreading
horrified I see it coming
I see the tiny leak, the pinprick hole
in the dam of ridiculously emotional water
I see it dripping and know it's only a matter of time
before the dam bursts

I could call out, I could shout, I could
stick my pinky finger in the hole
super glue, cement, a freakin' band-aid...
I could do something.
But I don't.
I watch as the infinitesimal speck becomes
larger and grows until
others start to notice
they look work worried
they look at me and wonder why I don't look worried

It's because I knew it was coming
I did nothing to stop it
and I don't know how to fix it
I just sit in my brain and watch what makes sense
become a ruin
and know that it didn't have to be this way.