i tried: poems from a lost soul

Tipping Point

This is the tipping point.
Finally pierced skin
Twice
(My nails aren't even that long yet).
How will I carry on
Carrying this tired, tired soul
In a mildly scratched body?
The operator of the vessel is no longer fit to operate
The driver of the car
The captain of the ship
Didn't even know they were in charge of the route to begin with.
So no plan
No replacement
The job can only be continued by a bunch of amateurs
Who came upon the place by happenstance.
No blood spilt
Not yet
But a warning
A warning nonetheless.
I am sure.
'Tis a sign,
A metaphor
Manifest by myself
Measuring the dangerously ticking time bomb that is me.
But I cannot explode,
Will not explode,
Do not know how to explode,
Do not know even how to implode,
So I will simply corrode from the inside
Slowly
Eaten away
Leaked lithium.
Or, perhaps,
The implosion already happened
And this is but an empty shell
Of a not very full human to begin with.
The car's alright, really,
Even pretty in certain lights or moods
But the driver sure needs some training.
Take a course, a lesson,
Oil the joints, clean the filters,
But who will teach?
I'm not confident I can teach myself
And I do not want the pain of being taught by life.
Tell me,
Does anyone have the qualifications?
From where, and how,
Does one obtain the certificate to prove one is qualified to live?
I must resign myself to the truth
That no one has answers
On n'a aucune idée
Lonely in a sea of strangers.