It lives against my throat like a shard of glass,
Held in your hand always.
No
I don’t think that you’re a monster.
It was not always your hand cutting my breathing short,
But you look like him with the lights off.
There is never a good time to talk about the monsters that still hang Over my shoulder,
But they’re smaller now.
They don’t bite anymore.
May 26, 2018
May 26, 2018 at 9:14 AM UTC
It lives against my throat like a shard of glass,
Held in your hand always.
No
I don’t think that you’re a monster.
It was not always your hand cutting my breathing short,
But you look like him with the lights off.
There is never a good time to talk about the monsters that still hang Over my shoulder,
But they’re smaller now.
They don’t bite anymore.
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