It doesn't mend the crack in the mirror,
when I am split in two down the middle,
it doesn't plaster over the hole in the drywall,
or suture up the edges of my knuckles,
but it is enough.
There is no divine revelation in its wake,
no undying answer to the hole in my chest,
there is no cure waiting for me by it,
nor a purpose for the precious time left,
but it is enough.
I'm bleeding out and calling out for you,
there is no response, save the echo from afar,
in my desperation, I hex this situation,
retreat into the corner of my mind,
but it is enough.
In that quiet moment, you're with me,
we're in the dark, slumped into a corner,
your tourniquet-arms tied about my torso,
we both know it won't kill the bleeding,
but it is enough to dull the pain.
