Shards

My body is full of broken glass.
Big shards clink dully,
press against my skin.
I know if I look down,
I'll see their sharp outlines,
pushing out as though I were made of rubber.


I don't dare look down.


I sit afraid to move:
the noise of the glass grates on my ears
and it will pierce me through.
No-one can touch me;
I cannot press my fingers to my sides,
it'll slice through my skin and cut my fingertips.