02.04.12 People live their lives on a thin sheet of glass. Some graze the surface and float effortlessly along,careless to the fragility. Unaware of what would ever happen if it were to break. The floor has broken beneath me long ago, worn away like a constant exhale of steel breath from silk lungs. My childhood consisted of fractures: words said harshly or not at all. The surface giving way like slow, terrible lightning. A quick fist to the temple, the back of my head to the cold porcelain bathtub. Another fracture in the surface. Until one day it broke, like a damn holding back a thousand rivers. My body, back to ground, fell like tiny drops of water from a rusted faucet, scattered into a million tiny pieces. I lived under it all. Like a bottom feeder, taking what I could. Trying to rebuild what I couldn't even see in the darkness, holdimg my breath. All the while, she looked down from the shards of glass with a split smile. At night she was a thief of purity and would escape to my gaping hole of a childhood and laugh menacingly, asking me how I would fix my ruined #life. That accusatory look from my own flesh and blood, who would ask me in a eerily calm and pitying voice, 'why do you do this to yourself? You need help' and in the next breath lean in and whisper in my ear 'no one will ever believe you, you little bitch'. Eroding my will and stripping me clean of hope.