Wreckage

I set a flame to history

and walked my way through new

cities. But places don't change

the way a memory chains 

your ability to reinstate health. 

A steeple stabbed me and I have been stumbling around these streets

listening to the beats of street drums

thumping in my hollow chest.

There is no worrying about the rest 

of my life when I will be lucky 

to have the sun introduce

me to tomorrow. 

"This is Tsionah. 

She grew up in yesterday

and is currently working in

demolition. She is known 

for tearing down unstable bridges."

I set a flame to history

and the heat dried up tears

that I never had the opportunity

to cry. I only know how 

to break down,

how will I ever reconstruct?

A steeple stabbed me

not even in the back, but looking

straight into my dried eyes

demanding repentance. 

I walked away to walk aimlessly;

I am homeless without dysfunction.

Don't we all just want to feel apart

of something?  

Yet maybe I don't have to rebuild 

burned bridges to wave hello

across wreckage.