NPWM Day 12: Glass

One withering look from you,

and I am glass.

One sharp word,

and I am fractured.

Who are you

to have such power?

To reduce me to rubble

with a glance?

And who am I

to be so overcome?

There was no exact instant

when I gave myself over,

but a slow series of moments,

binding myself to you,

and even now, I cannot regret it.

Even now, fragmented and failing,

I cannot.

 

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