Poems · writing

Tryhard

Sometimes I convince myself that my teeth could bite through metal

That the razor edges would do nothing to the soft parts of my mouth

That I wouldn’t bleed

Sometimes I think that I could crush glass between my fingers

That the glazed sand would find no purchase on my soft tissue

That I wouldn’t tear

Sometimes I imagine that if you were here I would be able to stand it

That the sound of your voice would be nothing but a residual melody in my mind. Your face an inkblot.

That I wouldn’t crumble.

But I know, I know, I know.

The moments tick by and I know.

I bleed, I tear, I crumble.

I am no match for the dreams that play in my head

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