Finger Snaps

by Z

you cracked my confidence like finger snaps
like that rock shot to the river when i felt like nothing could change in me
like no solution would ever take

with a bad case of transplant rejection ripping my new heart apart
i sat down at the banks of the river i once tried to shatter

but the market had shifted and a new damn was built
so i sat at the fetid banks of a motionless mirror

and inhaled with the relief of a man whose sense of reality was confirmed, for better or worse.
and i cupped my hands
and i drank.

my lips dripping with stagnation, i kissed all hope goodbye
but i guess all that self-loathing tastes bitter
because hope twisted away with a look in her eye that said.

“this is not the time for us.”

I couldn’t stand the depth of her eyes – or my eyes – for another second
so i grabbed the nearest rock and shot a bundle of all my hatred
and relived that moment between you and me.

that moment that stretched miles, with spreading cracks and the sound of a thousand little finger snaps.

the sun hit the rock for a moment as it spun and i caught all its colors and intricate designs.
it was far too pretty for this task
and far too small.

the tiny splash distorted my features – i was hoping for obliteration –
and I became far uglier
and far more lost.

i realized then that I could never break the mirror, only run from it.

i’m still not sure whether i’d rather be right about myself and the world
or find out i’m living a delusion and everything is beautiful and everything is still.

i put that question away for the moment and walk back down to the banks this time, i’m bringing a cinder block.

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