Broken Toys

the cold was sudden. we shivered beside our empty skins and wondered if we’d ever fit inside them again. angry gretels with our knives at the ready. timid hansels ready to crawl inside the oven.

choices we made ripen and eventually turn black. fruit picked from the vine left to spoil.

life thunders forward in spite of us. its faulty time machine leaving us stranded so often.

the cold was sudden. but not unexpected. we extrapolated life from fractions of euphoria. little children. in clothes too big for us. angry because nothing fits.

we’re quiet. broken dolls. with shattered faces. ambivalent to truth’s many hammers.

it’s nothing really. shades of skin like tissue paper. flecks of ink desperate to find the other side

it dies easily enough. but those ghosts still persist.