…It’s in those few
when the tears have run dry,
and the debris
on your bedroom floor,
your body too tired
or scream, your throat
and your eyes dry.
No trace of the anger or the despair
that wreaked havoc
the air so thick you can’t breathe
and the world so silent it’s deafening,
it’s when you think it can’t get any worse,
bite down on
hold it there,
every detail of how it tastes on your tongue,
write it on the roof of your mouth,
then get out from under the bed
and wash out all the remnants of it
from your hair,
from your skin,
from your eyes,
and watch it swirl
and disappear down the sink.
That’s how you let it go.
That’s how you let it let you go.
Not by denying it,
And shoving it
Down your throat,
But by gathering all the pieces from every corner of you it tries to hide in,
And crying it away into the abyss.