by the pond, he kneels, rubs his hands into the mud, it’s all mud, he says, it’s all become fucking mud. i can’t separate the dirt from the water, the pebble from the glass.
he bows his head, heaves, i can’t tell the difference, he says, between the spring and the fall, the crush of death and the passion of love, the light of the moon and the warmth of the sun.
he chokes, digs his nails into his scalp, i can’t tell the difference between the pain and the sorrow, the torturer and the torment, the prisoner and the cell.
i break everything, he whispers, i break everything.