Broken Glass
At first it was walking on rose petals.
Your words bloomed flowers in my heart, and I was reduced to ash every time I felt your touch.
Soon those petals turned into broken eggshells,
I never spoke up, but what’s a voice to destroy love?
I began to envy the stars so I could move fast enough to avoid the fact that everything hurt sometimes.
Soon enough I was walking on broken glass.
You painted black and blue my canvas with your fists.
Your needles bled my fragile veins dry, slowly, you drained the very oxygen from my lungs for every time you stole my breath.
I slept on a bed of nails and walked on broken glass, but no pain was worse than feeling the person you love turn your ambitions to dust, crumble your
confidence, and tear apart your bravery.
I was not human, but marionette, controlled by the hands of my puppet master.
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