When my world ruptured
when
voices taunted and told me that I
when my world
ruptured and voices
turned melancholy into
madness when ruptured
my world and the voices taunted
me with ruptured truths
when sleep became pacing
and the voices became louder
when
rupture rendered reality moot
when the voices made my voice mute
when the nurses talked to me of Spring
when the meds did not work
And another night at least one more
she isn’t responding well and mainly
she just sleeps when
the rupture dispersed the pieces
strung together carefully over a lifetime
when the strands snapped and
so did I and when the rupture
turned me inside and out
and filled my pockets with
zoloft and zyprexa and prosac
when the bridge beckoned
and the note was carefully left
on my pillow when my trip
to the river was interrupted
by a friend at the door
when she took my keys and still
when the rupture spread and
no strands were left to snap or scatter
when I was empty of everything
but the fucking voices
and how the hell do I get out of this
thing? Calendar flipped month after
month asking the same question
and then
it happened. When the rupture
snapped and in the cold cold wind outside
a train heading towards Fairbanks
and the thin chain that separated me
from deep ravines was enough
when I knew that the beauty
(yes, I will say it, the beauty)
was still there, was there, was
still when
the rupture transformed
and my heart filled
with Yes, with live,
with life, with Yes.