words

tiny shadows of nuclei
falling like dust,
swirling in the light
and i can feel my pulse
against the pillow,
this indicator of existence
even while i am uncertain
of just how real this is.

she sleeps quietly
in her sunday dress,
this nimble girl
i have broken
like a doll
in my childish hands.

she cries softly
in the evening shade
and i am certain now
that there is no justice
in universal law,
only her sadness,
only my shame.

her lullaby haunts
this quiet night alone,
this self imposed asylum
and the space between us
stretches and grows
while the world around me
draws back, collapses,
turns in on itself
taking her song with it.

-S.C. Martinez