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…