Glass

change the filter

of this trend

I rip the ends

 

choose why I…hold my breath

These things are death to me

of me…

 

I will sever

I will be there

 

I will pressure

I will catch her

 

a peek down the well,

concrete breezes

past my fist,

the girls go

hard to my chest,

so it bruises right

 

Oh, glass—

And now, you are gone

And in your hands,

A fucking paycheck

 

I’m breathing in all the guilt

I bet you grab my wrist and,

like a flower, inside me deep,

break it like a back

 

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