broken bikes

of fragilities

there is fragility,

and then there is me;

clattering sounds

in my chest,

like the pathetic noise-making

of a box

full of broken toys

that is being shaken

i am nothing more

than an entity

that holds

the mismatched pieces

of a trinket

that has long since

given up

on properly working

i am a vessel

for lost emotions

and misfit parts;

nothing seems to do 

what it is supposed to

there is a chaos

of organs and flesh and bones

colliding with one another,

encompassed by the

consistently thinning skin

that i have come to wear

as a curtain,

desperately hiding

the pain

there is fragility,

and then there is me;

i have become

a china cabinet,

adorned with fancy

items

that do absolutely no good,

but that need to be

polished and admired

my heart is a toy,

sputtering out uneven beats

my lungs are glass plates,

shattering into themselves,

leaving no room

for error,

or even for breath

my bones are brittle,

weak,

like the rusted metal

of an old bike,

unreliable

but necessary

there is fragility,

and then there is me;

i am a collection

of wheezing toys,

i am a china cabinet

filled with useless decorations

hold me at arm's length,

i am easily combustible;

rattle me,

and i'll break