break my bones
I could curl up the edges of myself and burn slowly into ashes that you could hold against your sweaty palms. You could blacken your hands with me... throw me into wind or moving water. Someday, would you wonder if you were breathing pieces of me, drinking me, digesting me? I could melt onto your cheeks like teardrops that softly carry pain away bit by bit as you let them go. I could seep into your skin, like smoke, through your pores and would you try to clean me out? Would you wash me down the drain? Particles evaporating only to be reused...to die again. An unending cylce of a thousand deaths by your hands but mostly by your lips. Why couldn't you have broken bones instead?