I’m numb below the ankle
I walk on your eggshells
I pay no kind to splinters
I stomp on your land of glass

but in the middle of the night
when one sleeps so soundly
I weep at the sight of my wounds
for they do not ache a bit

I can stitch them myself again
using thread from my knickers
I make it much easier for you
to do as you do, I’m still bleeding

consequently I’ve left in shards
this repeats most every time
and at mid-sky I do it all again
I hear crunching beneath my skin

I think that’s why I feel nothing
nothing below the ankle
nothing below the belt
I’m cast away in a body of glass