glass and ash

baby girl,

heart of glass,

I’m sorry.

Your heart sits unmoving in the coffin that is your chest,

the creak of rotting wood and old hinges,

keys hidden from the boy who tried to break you,

kept on a chain at your throat like a noose,

wrapped in paper scrawled with a promise to never love again

written a hundred times over

(and over and over)

reckless boy,

heart of ash,

why did you do it?

Your hands are shaking, even now, unfit for a glass heart-

and I know you thought she could fix you,

thought she would see the flames in your eyes

but she shattered as you burned away

leaving two empty husks in the field behind the church

crashing against one another, primal and violent and free

(with nothing behind the eyes)