broken glass [***TRIGGER WARNING: SELF INJURY***]

You saw my pain, washed out in the rain.

Broken glass; saw the blood run from my veins.

But you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart.

And you knelt beside my hope, torn apart.

I cleaned the glass. I cared

that much, just enough

to wipe clean the sharp clarity

before painting in vivid scarlet with its tip on bare sinner’s skin.

And I wonder often why I did, when so few months later I became so set on throwing it all away.

That clean crystalline shard was a promise; who for,

what to? I’m sure I’ll never know. Lots of things

were taken out of my hands in those days {and I mean that in every single way}.

I fed on every raindroppromise like I was starved for earthly light. That day,

sweltering southern July

on a hill, on a mountain

by the house that smelled of figs

its stairways lined with dolls with glassy, soft eyes that I counted {68 total}

136 eyes

For my 200 or so scars, just those 3 months.

There’ll never be enough hearts, of dolls or otherwise to save

to heal every last one, and that’s only me.

Promise me we’ll be alright?


{the italicized sections are lyrics from the song “Ghosts That We Knew” by the band Mumford and Sons.}


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