But your spirit is pulled apart,
Shattered into little darts,
And I can’t pick them up
Splinters of eyes, a sliver of an elbow,
Sit by the door in a row.
Regimented, ordered, in a clean
Pick up the phone and call me,
I say, knowing full well that you’re not free.
Shattered, and splintered,
in a row by the door.