sing the song that hurt him
that stung his eyes
like desiccant smoke from old burning tires
tears turned into ashes
he had to cry pieces
a granular million
discrete broken beads
of a heat-tempered heart
safe for this playground of immature knees
you can crawl without care
there are no jagged shards of him
at least none to cut you
today
those who are hurt
can still stand
but you who give hurt
have to crawl from now on
it’s written that way
in all the good fairy tales
or maybe it’s in
those morality plays
he read as a man-child
just watch that you don’t dare crawl to him
his heart beads are gone
rolled away
finding lodge
in the cracks only two can make
trying to love
go ahead
sing the song all you like
he no longer cares
you can see it
by seeing
what…
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