A limb severed, I wonder:
Would a dog truly chew its own leg?
There were days…
Rain-filled and with mossy floors
that glassed his flaws and he dreamed of being someone else.
I understood. No stature. I’d be livid to live.
Days when he sulked in his sombre seek of sovereignty…
Denied but seeking still…
On those days, he reminded me of that one cup,
chipped and placed at the back.
The crack now its face, earned it a place away from the rest of the china set.
My madam’s soft but swift slaps whenever I’d try to climb and reach for it.
In my last memory,
he shed his sorrows in the shadow of his sobriety
or so I thought…
A man addicted to chance, fashioned from a boy filled with clouds in his eyes.
I hear they mourn him still.
*Photo by Jan Canty on Unsplash