Broken Vessel

Photo by Anna Chaykovskaya on
I was fractured, and you were supposed to be my healer, 
Instead, you shattered my existence,
Lost, broken, I let you go free, 
So that I would be left somewhat intact, 
I wanted you gone, but you never left my mind, 
Always lurking in the back of it, 
Popping out in the most inconvenient times,

When someone grabs my shoulder from behind, it’s you,
When someone whispers next to me, it’s you, 
Every man that smiles at me, it’s your smile,
When I close my eyes, I see you,
I hesitate to wear my favorite lipstick 
Because you liked it so much,

There is not an inch of my life that you did not slither into, 
Wrap yourself around my throat as I scream, 
Choke what’s left of my dignity out of me, 
And leave the scars to mark me, 
I am enslaved to you even as a free woman 
As you still walk unencumbered,

A decision I made to keep the peace, 
But I’m not sure whose peace, 
Your pieces are still with me, 
And a piece of my flesh will always be 
A trophy on your mantle, 
Something to mount as your victory, your conquest, 
Even though the rest of me escaped, 
A small price to pay for the freedom I have now,

Now, I glue back my broken pieces, 
And figure out how the pieces you left behind fit in,
I am no longer whole without you,
But that does not mean you get to change 
The tides of the water I carry inside, 
Though right now it is dark and stormy,
One day, one day, you will only be a gentle breeze 
That blows through the cracks,
Easily remembered, easily forgotten,
Leaving my life unaffected, 
and the ability to smile and mean it

By Hyacinth Hale

A Bullet in the Hourglass (New Graphic Art Version)

This Poem talks about depression, and suicidal thoughts and ideation. It comes with a trigger warning. If you or a loved one are struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts know that you are not alone, you are loved, and you are stronger than you think. Better days are ahead. Here are some resources from around the world:

A Bullet in The Hourglass

Photo by Jordan Benton on

Mental Illness and depression are difficult topics to discuss. Poetry has always been a safe space to explore deep emotions and thoughts. I understand these topic can be triggering for some, so this poem does come with a trigger warning because I do talk about suicidal thoughts and ideations. It is my hope that if you continue to read the poem and you or a loved one struggle with depression that you know you are not alone, you are loved, and it does get better. The most important thing is to seek help. Here are some resources from around the world:

Photo by Egg thing on
A bullet pierced the hourglass,
It melted the sand into tears of molten lava
And slowly hardened,
entrapping the ruptured metal inside an explosion,
perfectly contained,
as if time stood still before hell broke loose,

I eye the metal jacket,
smoke still coming from the gun in hand,
hoping for sand to bleed out,
for something in my life to go to plan,
Instead, I tap the edges of the hourglass,
fused by the heat of the bullet with the gun,
I took my finger off the trigger,
and touched it in disbelief,
it was hard as a rock with the bullet encased
in a singular glassy tear inside,

I took a deep breath, and raised my arm,
cocked the revolver back,
one eye on the glass, one in the chamber,
point blank range, no screw ups this time,
this one’s going to stick,
I inhale and then exhale,
one last breath before… the gun jams,

I go to unclog the revolver,
and the bullets dissolve into sand,
defeated, tormented, comically divinely mocked,
I fall to my knees and raise my hands to the heavens,
and yell, “God what do you want from me?”

The heavens break open,
and the sun shines a singular ray down on me,
The wind rustles and my heart heaves,
I hear a still quiet voice, almost a whisper,
which vanished as quickly as the morning vapor,
it told me to live to tell the tale,
so I own a bullet that pierced my hourglass figure,
it still lives wedged in my chest

There was no rhyme or reason just a hair trigger,
well actually there were a million reasons,
some justified, some that would make your toes curl,
all tragic, all if I told you, would garner your sympathy,
make you shake your head, and say what a shame,
but I’m not ashamed because
I chose to live that day until the sands run out naturally,
I don’t need your sympathy,
I only need to live to tell the tale

~ By Hyacinth Hale