You rip me in all the wrong places,
Shatter me into bits and pieces of dead glass
So you could stare at me
Through splintered lenses
(And I needed you to hear the cold cracks)
So I could say, listen, here,
Play a sad song for me,
And you could sing me
A ballad,
Featuring shivering bulbs of glass
Exhausted against the bitters of my skull
And plant dead glass
Onto the lobes of my hollow ears
So I could replay the clink of glass chambers
Echo in the drums of my crippled ears,
Because I can get used to this cold.
These crumbled glass bulbs
Sing hymns into the caves of my tired knees
And say, Yeah, I know what growing dusty and cold feels like.
I tried piecing your broken life back together,
But maybe it's easier
To get used to the ringing
Of glass chambers
Spiked right through
My humbled ears.

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