a large scar furls around my shoulder blade
and she didn’t ask, just drew my shirt up to cover it.
i kissed her so much, not because she was beautiful but because she was mine
but again my hands were too heavy,
my gaze too desperate,
and i leaned too hard and she fell and cracked like porcelain.
they were the roaring bonfire, and i the wet leaf in the pit.
i knew a mirror like that, once —
its edges were soft and white; adorned, it hid
but saw everything from between the hinges
and one day i found it echoed in the quiet space between my imagination and the bedroom
and with vanity i sealed my curse
with unbridled arrogance and vanity, i sealed it like a tomb.
a thousand silver pieces,
a million microbes,
and one wretched, scabbed child,
whose eyes won’t leave the fragments.