Catastrophic Handful

By Miriam   

And I am pushing for some
outward existence beyond what
is dripping between my feet
and the remnants on the floor.

Some catastrophic handful of
a shattered vodka bottle and
the stranger in my reflection;
eying me with loathing and
contempt - she seems to say:

"I’ll follow you to hell, but
I won’t acknowledge you."

Some less-empathetic observer
preferring to remain omniscient
in my sober being, remaining unmoved
when I reach out to touch her salt stricken face.

Fingertips on a cold glass mirror.
The sudden crush of reality
I am alone
Help me

before it is too late

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I am a survivor of a mental health crisis, and I documented my experience with poetry.