Where Do I End
glass fingertips,
where do i end
and the mirror begins?
where am i?
in a funhouse,
my reflection stares back at me but my eyes are blank
when my glass hands stretch towards the mirror,
trying to guide
myself
through this hall of mirrors,
i wonder,
where do i end
and the mirror begins?
i do not understand
why my fingers are shattering
as they close around my wrist.
they do not quite reach
all the way around,
and i want them to.
i want to close my hand around my wrist,
full circle,
because that will mean i can finally
be skinny.
i want to shatter my fingers,
use the edges of my torn stubby nails
to rip open my flesh of glass.
where do i end,
and the mirror begins?
i like to watch my skin shatter,
boil,
burn
tear
rip
scream.
my fingers are glass and i cannot see myself in this world of mirrors.
my body is glass and i have been shattered.
melt me in a forge,
reform my
broken fingers.
how did they break?
how did i break?
what happened
to my glass mind.
my glass mind?
no.
do not treat me like i am glass,
i want to be stone.
my chest is stone,
but my fingers are glass,
stuck in between,
a chrysalis of me and you,
yes and no,
opposites attract and coexist.
glass houses throwing stones,
i am the glass and the stone,
i do not know what i mean.
where do i end
and the glass begins?
glass fingertips tracing
me
how can the shattered mirror be a weapon
and a force of love
of lust
of of of of of
i do not know who i am.
glass?
stone?
glassandstone?
i am all that i wish to be
and all that i wish i was not.
am
am not
am
am not
not.
my thoughts are so confusing that even i do not understand them
loose lips and wide hips yet i am skinny as a rope and silent as a feather falling.
opposites attract.
i wish someone would throw stones at my glass house
so i could break,
let my fingertips shatter,
and take the pieces and slice myself into ribbons
because clocks are broken
and i am right twice a day.
glass is broken.
i walk along the remains of my fingers
glass that does not want to be used.
the glass is cursed.
it cuts my bare feet and i love the pain.
i love the pain and i have no fingers so i walk along the remains.
my hands are stubs.
i like to kiss my knuckles,
where the broken glass of my fingertips meets the stone of my hands
i kiss the shards and my lips bleed
cracked, dry, broken.
me.
me and my bloody lips.
me and my bloody lips yet my lips are smooth as silk.
opposites attract.
where do i end
and the glass begins?
where do i end
and you begin?
i do not want to be glass.
you are glass and you are me so i am glass.
i am the thing i never wanted to be.
glass, so easily shattered.
me, already broken.
no more fingers.
no more feelings.
let me lose.