Jigsaws Are We

Always while being discarded. We are miscellaneous maladies of madness- Sporadically ripped apart Piecing together unspoken words and feelings of sadness. While our eyes and fingers grope on the assembly-line jigsaws are we, waiting in hope to be mended, fixed redefined. If we're walking around, blindfold. Who will near complete me, us? I'm sure it's something asked by all of us I'm sure it's something of a black hole. Gingerly if I come to you. And ask don't-leave-me surreptitiously alone please don't devalue me don't-leave-me periodically empty as a cyclone. Because I've got a heart, I've got a generously loving soul tonight. You might answer me, me back, well darling-alright?