The Glass

 
We are broken and either repairing,
or fucked
and we'll never know
unless we stand under the glass
knee-deep in smoke and skin

even if it's just for a heartbeat.


Beguiled or not
I fucking love you
in ideals, where we're feathered
but that doesn't keep the bed warm
when I'm gone.

My shoulders wince
at your nightmares and
that I'll never be able to stop them

and will undoubtedly water,

while your absence is
my only company.








(read by the violet)