Walking on Broken Glass

Because she is fractured, and
you don’t get to be
any part of the crucible
they use to heal her.

You gave up the privilege of her name
when you broke pieces of her
and took them and tucked them in to your pockets.

As if she were made of thin candy glass.

This fragility surprises you
or else you think nothing of it
close your eyes against falling splinters
of sugar and potassium bitartrate.

cenobyte is a writer, editor, blogger, and super genius from Saskatchewan, Canada.

i make squee noises when you tell me stuff.

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