There’s glass embedded
in the skin beneath my wrist
where I fell, arms out, for you.
But it glitters so prettily
I left it to scab, blood soaked,
and glittering. Prettily.

Ground almost to sand
and abrasive, like the breath
in my lungs soaked with regret
and reeking of vodka from
15 years back. I am under attack
and my barrier has been down
two years, bruised from fear
and anxiety.

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