You are the sound of thunder
Blood in my ears. Tachycardic.
The color wine; warm like winter nights.
Six years old and already broken
You are the racing river in my chest
The stop in my breath. Panic.
Shelter like old forts; cold and impenetrable.
Fourteen years old and already broken.
You are the dust that gathers on my smile
A bookshelf forgotten. Unneeded.
The taste of copper; chewed fingers and bruised lips
Twenty-one years old and already broken.
You are the justice declaring my fear
An unseen specter. Desperate.
A hurricane of insecurities;
Twenty-eight and still broken.