A life, torn from end to end,
Pushed apart from itself
Asleep on my worn desk,
A splinter shoved into my finger.
It does not bleed but embeds
Deep into the flesh, an unknown wound
Until the infection spreads
And I am left with gangrene
Amputation is the only solution
So cut off who I used to be and
Use it to feed the roots below
Green pushing its way up through the silt
Rot makes fertile soil
The person I was can no longer be
What I was is no longer possible
A limb cauterized at the stump
Blackened and fire-touched
Who will I be?
Poetry Overdose 