I am full of cracks;

fissures in my palms

dry and ragged, revealing the rot

blooming beneath my skin

When I try to grasp that liquid love,

it slips through the gaps and is

swallowed by the darkness below

There are cracks in my face;

fresh, smooth porcelain interrupted 

by sharp edges drawing ruby red 

droplets from the fingers that brush them

Oh, so tender, but glass

cannot be stitched back together 

with caresses and kind words

There are cracks in my feet;

when I walk that divinely ordained path

to greatness—inscribed on brochures

tucked into mail slots with 

wrinkled grocery coupons—

I stumble and trip over the vines

Such a deception, sweet ivy grows 

beneath my trodden soles,

and tip off the edge of that yellow brick 

road leading to my salvation

There are cracks in my eyes;

at least that’s what I can see from here

falling down in a grand canyon

yawning open to swallow me whole

The sunlight high above my head is cracked

by my broken view of the world around me