Anathema

so you wake up in a world that doesn't know you

a broken shard of a mirror lying flat upon a bed

a bed you've neglected to replace with dull springs

years of use have left   them all but dead

enough to leave some pain in an overused spine, in an overused life suspended by a thread

another day   you'll find something to fill the void 

that large echoing chamber where everything bled

out   as if it was never even there to begin with 

just a stain, forever pooling outward, to spread

all that was lost from the wound, from the word so sharp, it should never be said