Rift

I've ripped one of my books tonight:

with violence, at first

calmly, later.

The pages lay dismembered on the floor

as the pungent smell of ink

spread in the room

carrying the scent of my own blood.

I then tried reading

the incoherent messages

written on those shattered dreams.

't was a story
with neither rhyme nor reason

for this life of mine
could not be told.

by Jason R. Forbus