She feels like a fragment of who she used to be.

Salty and still,
swollen on the wreckage of her own pathetic life,
she dreams in sirens
wailing against day’s angst.

Nothing ever changes
except what stays the same.

Nail gun in hand,
she hangs another empty shelf,
then proffers her palm
for impaling.

She hopes that pain dissuades the anguish
wailing will not cease.

Brenda Warren 2016


Six for Wednesday / The Sunday Whirl


9 thoughts on “Wailing

  1. Nothing ever changes..except what stays the same…how very true – sadly.. i hope she uses that railgun to try and stick some of the fragments back together..that would change things perhaps – a powerful and relatable poem


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