The loop of our thoughts, cycling over and over. The repetition of life and our compulsions therein. These ethereal elements flow like water over our minds, leaving indentations and scars akin to valleys on the land.
We are flawed in this, but all the more beautiful…
Fractured. Broken. Crumbled ruin.
of a face, defiled.
Entombed in time, the moment slumbers.
Dust measures time — and the number of times
I’ve chipped away. Repetitive. Unable to stop.
Like eating the chips in chocolate chip ice cream.
Melting. Giving up. Sickly sweet. Sick of myself.
A face left in ruin.
We do this to ourselves.
This game of Sisyphus.
Despite the exposed wounds and deformities,
this is who we are now.
Yet even the classical forms with
broken noses and arms are revered,
in the context of history and time.