100%

 

Is what she’ll never be

Again. Not ever whole

Or complete. Never fit

Tidily back together

The way she was when she

First was. Broken now.

Forever, it feels. All

Her inner parts re-

Arranged in new patterns

She can’t recognize.

And though human eyes

Cannot discern the lines

Where the paste pot

Pasted back together

All the broken scraps,

She can feel the shredded

Edges cutting her inside every-

Where the paper tore,

Sliding under the surface,

Striving for realignment

With where they were before

The needle loaded up,

And pricked through skin,

And found the vein, and

Plunged. Before the junk.

Before the junkie who once

Had been her daughter.

Or her son. Before all

That. Back when she was

Of a piece. When she

Was whole. Intact. Complete.

When she could still believe

Her child and she

Had once been

One.