Junked

What if you fail? What then?  
What if you become
your limitations, a discarded pile
of inert possibilities, a signal
with no frequency, a tangle
of unmoving parts, impossible
to sift through? What if
there will never be a completion
for your beginnings? What if
who you are is now
merely a monument
to broken things, a flattened
silhouette inside a Polaroid photo,
waiting for the elements
to finalize the decay?