I hold you like you are fragile
(you are).
You have fissures in your brain
that are about to break
as the stitches come undone.

Bruises paint your skin monochrome,
while your stomach goes between
digesting itself and Prozac.
The empty words toss you down,
your organs come unhooked
and you go out of balance
when they shake you around.

And for the day your body hangs
like an unhinged door,
it would be on me because
I could have held you tighter
until your pieces melded back together.

Today, I put you inside a snow globe,
lined it with gauze,
and topped it to the rim
with dopamine water.

Now that you are safe
I don't have to worry,
knowing that a little turbulence
won't make you break.