To Break:

You seep sadness like maple from a tree,

and I see you, crying into your tired hands.

You’re an egg—cracking

Fragile.

Like an antique vase

Breaking  is  easy.

To Break:

Is to raise your fist and watch it bellow into my chest.

Is to stumble down the highway in a stupor—

and I guide you home on my bicycle, watching your state of decay.

You claw up the stairs, through the door, into your room,

and die in your bed.

To Break:

Is to bury yourself under the covers

You descend into a sea of broken things,

and I wonder where your lost pride and motivations went.

We scrape at joy but as time erects itself around us

you moan with ex pleasures time and time again.

Why does the swinging euphoria of that man make you happy

but I don’t?

To Break:

Is to relinquish your rights and run back to domestic chaos.

Is to paste on that makeup, clip those cheap hoop earrings,

and spray on that mundane perfume.

My tree branches in again and he says, Everything will be okay.

I do not believe him.

You give up everything

I think you stop existing

Sometimes you’re just a goddess of destruction

You  break  things.

To Break:

Is to shatter yourself

with those battered hands

Your reflection is gone,

and I just hope it’s worth it.