Sometimes my tongue gets stuck
On sentences like, you are full of,
You are full of, you are full of.
But never really know
What you are full of.
I tear my lungs open
And offer you my shiniest gemstone
Ironically, when my ribcage
Is carbon and rust alone.
Your gaze reflecting in my window
Glass a ghostly grim
Foreseen and fuelled
By my own fire and anger
And juxtaposition.


-- Eleanor