You hang on,

feet trampled,

fingers cramped,

gripping life.

You wring your insides

for every last bit

of will.

You hold yourself at gunpoint

to perfection.

You reconstruct your face

until it smiles.

You castigate the pain

with one-verse theology.

You lock up grief

in reasons

that don’t fit.

You plaster murder words

you don’t mean

across the holes.

And you forget

what He who loves you best

remembers—

you’re only dust.