i lick the tears
smudged on the lenses of my glasses
littered among the fingerprints
they taste like the salt that i pour
into my wounds on a daily basis

i don’t bother to
clean my glasses until i literally
can’t see out of them because of how
***** they are because it’s easier to face the world
when i can’t really see it

even when i can
see what is coming at me once again
i find it terrifying instead of comforting
it’s like being able to see the fist coming at you
but not being able to dodge it in time

as this metaphorical fist
connects with my face
i realize i haven’t had the chance to take
off my glasses before i was hit
and wonder vaguely if glass will make my eyesight worse