Open Me

I need to confront an empty plain. 
Desolation is Cathartic.

On my knees in the raw heath, 
I pray to my own smallness, 

to the tightness in my jaw, 
and my pathetic attempts at flight. 

The sky is a mosaic of austerity. 
We are superfluous pieces
that have fallen to the dusty floor. 

The scream in my throat 
tickles. 

Open me. 
Or break me.