it's glass over powder.
how else to explain it, i don't know, but
there's such a thin
deadly
layer of your glass
over the lightest possible powder.
okay, maybe it's just ice over snow, but
fuck it.
that crunch is the sound of you.
the sound of broken delicacies.
YOU ARE READING
visions
Poetrythe thoughts in my head, however disorganized [warning, it can get heavy.] -- poetry #43 random #86
