Hillary

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 hollowed 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.