Wednesday, February 18, 2015

temper

Shards of glass
pointed
poignant
what secrets do you hold?
Double-edged
sharpness
I see my reflection
in your jagged face
possessed of
a most evil malaise
tempered by frustration
deeper you bore
down to the core
spouting forth growths
and setting free blood
the hole left
once you’re gone,
the black void
echoes your shape
the shadow of your might.
The hole you make
when puncturing me
matches nothing
but a streak of crimson
on the cold morning floor.

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