I twist and contort from the light
Hiding my cracking porcelain skin
If I step too hard an arm will fall to the earth and shatter. Turn to quick and my ribs will crumble inwards. So delicate I walk on glass stick legs, careful my footprints don’t leave stains in the snow. I shudder upwards towards the moon but only reach my bedroom window, in I go, they’ll never know.
I prop myself up on the wire stand that keeps me from collapsing and gently lower down the bell jar that keeps me safe. I pop a blue pill to sleep and pray I don’t wake up tomorrow.
Jan 11, 2021
Jan 11, 2021 at 10:10 PM UTC
I twist and contort from the light
Hiding my cracking porcelain skin
If I step too hard an arm will fall to the earth and shatter. Turn to quick and my ribs will crumble inwards. So delicate I walk on glass stick legs, careful my footprints don’t leave stains in the snow. I shudder upwards towards the moon but only reach my bedroom window, in I go, they’ll never know.
I prop myself up on the wire stand that keeps me from collapsing and gently lower down the bell jar that keeps me safe. I pop a blue pill to sleep and pray I don’t wake up tomorrow.
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