Child With A Broken Soul.......

I am afraid of voices in suicide
notes that were never seen
And whispers of spirits 
left in stainless steel police coffins
Enchanting me into a black hole

Words that drag me to the darkness
in which they were written
Make me find refuge in their grimness
as if it were my mother
Am I a child intrigued by the writer
because I have her broken soul?

My thoughts are tinkets hanging 
in the shrink's office
To please patients whose epiphany 
is knowing that they are better than others

My thoughts are naked and helpless
tugged by death and its accomplices
And mysteries of the unknown purpose
of enduring everything here
These thoughts seek any type of clothing

They find dumped garments of proselytes
Who soon want their clothes
back when sin repullulates
No tailor can make the right measurements
The nakedness can only be covered
by those who poured out their souls

-As broken as their souls were

By Dzikamayi Chando (Zimbabwe)

Picture credits: www.google.com