her breath fogs my skin
like warmth on glass-
when did my bones become this fragile;
if she pushes too hard,
when will i shatter?
she slips her fingers between mine
and we hold hands-
as simple as breathing;
i am not known to be good at breathing,
no, the day i remember how to breathe,
will that be the day i drown?
she leaves handprints on my arms
i am a broken mirror-
where am i? i cannot wipe her away;
fingerprints on my surface,
memories that cloud the glass,
has anyone ever seen me in plain sight?
she bites too hard
they stare at the bruises-
as she shifts from lover to abuser,
will my hands stop shaking,
when did my house become haunted?
when will i
shatter?
Mar 17, 2017
Mar 17, 2017 at 9:36 PM UTC
her breath fogs my skin
like warmth on glass-
when did my bones become this fragile;
if she pushes too hard,
when will i shatter?
she slips her fingers between mine
and we hold hands-
as simple as breathing;
i am not known to be good at breathing,
no, the day i remember how to breathe,
will that be the day i drown?
she leaves handprints on my arms
i am a broken mirror-
where am i? i cannot wipe her away;
fingerprints on my surface,
memories that cloud the glass,
has anyone ever seen me in plain sight?
she bites too hard
they stare at the bruises-
as she shifts from lover to abuser,
will my hands stop shaking,
when did my house become haunted?
when will i
shatter?
Request permission to use this poem