My hands
Claws
Grasping at my throat
Clasping onto
Life
Brushing
Death
Tare, stab
The words
Cutting me
Slash, rip
The sensation of hate
Slicing me
Crack
Splinter
My body
Morphing
Gentle touch
This reflection isn't me
Sudden shatter
Fist fracturing this puppet
A million judgemental eyes
Glaring into me
These eyes are mine
But who am I
Blood pools
And I am convinced
This isn't my blood
But these are my fingers
In this fist
Bleeding red
Or is it
My reflection
Is it me
Or the other me
That echos
That screems
Why?
Why?
Why am I here
Why is my siblings so far away
and my heart is seizing
Tell me
Me
Why is it all so strange
Am I the reflection?
~brokenglasseye
YOU ARE READING
THE CONSISTANCY OF AIR .3
PoetryI could say this is a book about poems, but the truth is its a book about my life fragmented by words.
