Was I?

Was I the spark,
Or the flint,
Or was I the burn?

Was I the cause,
Or the effect,
Or a mere aside?

Was I the stab,
Or the blade,
Or was I the blood?

Was I the hit,
Or the bump,
Or was I the crack?

Was I the bullet,
Or the gun,
Or was I the hand?

Was I the question,
Or the answer,
Or was I the doubt?

Was I the make-believe,
Or the meantime,
Or was I the test subject?

Was I the scream,
Or the shock,
Or was I the past?

Was I the construct,
Or the truth,
Or the unwanted mirror?

Was I a choice,
Or an option,
Or simply expendable?

Am I the wound,
Or the scar,
Or am I the pain?

Am I of any consequence,
Or with any life,
Or am I all just in vain?

Saline

Herding the silences in my mind
Memories mourned the lyrics,
Notes trembled within my heart,
As the song choked my throat,
And rolled off my brimming eyes,
Streaking the ignored stubble.
The pining alto stagnated, as
Its melody dried upon my face.
And all I was left with were
A few broken, saline verses.