it isn't like you didn't know, ash and coal spilling from your mouth
like a stone pit the day after a campfire; cold, dead, acrid, gray
but still you want to pry it out of me
reach deep down into my throat
you know i protect it there
too painful to release
but you pry and you never know when to stop
and you never know when enough is enough
bright red stop signs
neon red lights
you waltz right through them
charm your way past
nothing deters, and so i curl up again
a tight, miniature rosebud
vulnerable, tiny thorns
your over-sized hands tear right through
you tear through
and your tearing through breaks me
it breaks it all