He was a one-liner
Better and finer
Than all the stuff on my bed post
What feels like this the most?
Burning and slicing.
Taking my arm and dicing
Out what is trapped there.
If I take a glance, I'll stare.
Not a single glare
Through this glass, reflects.
Slimy licks become defects
And my finger prints gouge the glass
Take a pass
At me
Because I'll never be free.