Landslide

I am sick of myself.

Of the thoughts rattling around

The inside of my head like ready-made bombs

Eager to destroy whatever sense of pride might bloom.

.

I am sick of this battle,

Of picking up the axe and pretending

That I am going to fell trees with some kind of rot

Instead of the oldest, healthiest trees protecting the dirt of my soul.

.

There is a landslide,

Imminent and dangerous,

Twitching on the slopes of my dreams

And I fear the day it finally lets loose and destroys me.

.

What will be left?

I fear that the mountain will fall

So completely that not even an outline in my eye

Will remain and I will be left staring at the empty hole of sky.