You rip me in all the wrong places
Shatter me into bits & pieces of dead glass
So you could stare at me
Through shattered lenses
(& I needed you to hear the cold cracks)
So I could say, listen, here,
Play a sad song for me,
And you could sing me
A ballad,
Featuring shivering bulbs of glass
Exhausted against the bitters of my skull
And plant dead glass
Onto the lobes
Of my hollow ears
So I could replay the clink of glass chambers
Echo in the drums
Of my crippled ears.
Because I can get used to this cold,
These crumbled glass bulbs
Sing hymns into the caves of my tired knees
And say,
Yeah, I know what growing dusty and cold feels like.
I tried piecing your broken life back together,
But maybe it’s easier
To get used to the ringing
Of glass chambers
Spiked
Right through
My
Humbled
Ears.