splinters

how many
empty promises
does it take
to break a heart;
shattered like
glass against
naive cold stone
and the splinters
stung lightly
like rainstorm;
life is skin
deep, you see,
gliding glass
marbles roll
onwards forever
while you gaze
distracted,
hypnotised,
enchanted by
ghosts of faded
hallucinations;
stumble over
the present
as you skid
backwards
over ice
right into
your future;
i’d rather not
know when you’re
begging for
sunlight, all
tattered and
broken, down
on your knees
in desperate
tears; let them
talk to you then,
in their good-willed
pretend, white coats
and scribbles on
white sheets of paper,
and – how do you
spell your name, again?

T. E. Pyrus

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