Crumbling at the very core of my being
Dropped on my spine and now I find
My spine is made of glass


Wax veined, moth to the flame
Bones grind, dropped on my spine


Bloodstained glass in the sand
Softly slaughter the lamb

So slow, knife in my back
Remains like needle tracks


Beautiful words are seldom true
Tongue of thorns, my spine is glass


Spineglass

My spine is glass