Articles of silica sand have always been my favorite playthings. My loves.
Particularly bottles.
It was an enrapturing moment to find them,
Or have them given to me,
Large, lucid blobs of unmelting ice Capturing the light and playing with it...
Delicate, tinkling,
Magical enough to play Potions and Poisons with
In my preferred reality.
I thought that was the sole purpose of my love for it.
Then one day
One bottle
Shattered.
Then another.
And another.
And another,
Until I was surrounded by a sea of shimmering razors.
Did I...break them on purpose?
Or did I just grow up?
It couldn't have been intentional, right?
I loved my bottles!
I loved them...
I loved you!
I didn't mean to...
Please...
I'm sorry....I'm sorry...
I'M SORRY!
I take a shard in my hand,
Please... forgive me.
It sits in my palm, silent, icily enraged,
Its glistening point abusing and enticing my eyes.
It asks, demands a sacrifice. One that I am more than willing to give.
As its single fang slides around and across my left shoulder, gifting me bleeding, throbbing, deep love bites, I realize:
Yes, I just grew up,
And now the glass loves me too.
YOU ARE READING
The Scraps of A Song: An Anthology.
PoetryPoetry spanning topics from love to pain, to addiction, to borderline insanity, to romanticism..in a disorder so strange it becomes an order all its own... The Pieces of Her, The Scraps of A Song.
