Void

I wonder if I write random fragments of poetry and words, that something somewhere deep within the crevices of my long forgotten mind will snap and click into place, and the fragments will find a way to fill the void and somehow close the portals and holes of my psyche; if somehow she will be banished and my mind will be my own, or if it's long gone, taken over... and where is my mind? The countdown ticks on the detonator buried deep within my soul, so far as I can not dig it out, not even with a long handled coffee spoon nor a blade sharp as those words. No acid will burn through the wires that carry life around my body. Try as one may. But maybe, just maybe, the blast will remain internal. Reformat and reorder. Omissions and revisions. This, perhaps, is the start of the end.