blur

the taste flushes sour deep
down in my throat
a stale breath of assurance moving in my ribs
it is not unknown, just not consistent enough
am i about to unravel the old cloaks of me?
or the angels descending all at once, each whispering a different truth
can they stitch the wound quick? so it doesn’t rupture through my arteries
or do i have to wait once again
while the audience leans forward, curious how i’ll collapse
but perhaps the falling is not the end of me
perhaps i have worn worse and survived the weight
so let them watch
i will unravel slowly, deliberately
and sew myself back with the same thread that came undone
wearing the ruin like it was always meant to be seen