The End

The bitter ice
And confusion are
Making me slip.
My tongue skirts
Around my chattering teeth,
And your footsteps
Shake the silence.
We walk.
I am trembling, for
The inevitable is
Walking right towards us.
The cold metal
Of your zipper
Smacks your
Crisp jeans with each
Staggering step.
Your murmured speech echoes
Through my clouded head,
And then it is happening.
And then it is silent.
And then it is over.

1,000 Pieces

I am the backwards piece.
My cardboard face is staring blankly
And I am trying to
Change.
The rest of the picture is becoming clear--
For everyone else.

I am the piece that
Doesn't seem to fit anywhere.
The factory didn't cut me right
And I cannot complete
The Story.

I am the piece that
Is misprinted.
My crooked image
Distorts the tale and
I don't like what I see.

I am broken into
1,000 pieces, and I don't know
Where I fit in.