Wasted

I take three quick breaths but only one is mine.

This stolen time keeps leaving marks on my ribs.

The reality has nothing to do with the divine –

Rosy suffering and pain are crying in their cribs.

I do not know when the wheel started turning,

But I need to stop it before I lose my mind.

Priests will watch the hunt, watch the burning,

Then go home and call my rage unkind.

I take three quick steps but two are borrowed,

And I might collapse if I take just one more.

My happiness has nothing to do with tomorrows,

But I cannot stop myself from keeping the score.

-Jackie