cyclical

my bones felt like glass,
but they haven't broken yet,

and
her eyes are growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
her lungs are growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
her faith is growing
and shrinking
along with the moon

and
my bones are made of plastic.

i can beat
and
i can breathe

while she grows
and shrinks
along with the moon.

she thinks her bones are made of glass
and she thinks she is the moon,
but she hasn't broken yet.

i haven't broken yet.


--erin