A glass bottle missed my head and smashed against the wall behind me as tyres sped away and I lent down to inspect the broken pieces as the last drops of liquid purged themselves in the open air. The glass was green and had a generic label of a brand like Carling or Carlsberg or maybe something else beginning with C. I collected the pieces, carefully, and carried them home where I crushed them into a powder and with them made a paste. I applied the paste onto my skin and now I am made of glass also. I am harder, but I will shatter just as easily.
please me gentle
When pressure is applied to a part of the body it cuts off the blood supply to the nerves in that area preventing the nerves from sending signals to the brain, creating a pricking, burning or numbing sensation. It is dangerous territory, I suppose, to desire such pressure but I was numb to begin with and the pain almost feels worth the risk. “If you will bear all this, I will help you”. It looks soft to the touch before I remember it is made of glass and I remind myself that desire is a construct and that I must not trust it. But I can never remember for long. Like how grace comes from treading on knives but if I can bare it I might one day share a soul and then I won’t become sea foam; just maybe. And so I ask again; please, be gentle.