i crawled into a glass skeleton with her
and dried inside, drifting lifelessly,
an empty, blank insect carcass;
this vessel anyone could inhabit.
so i spun her a perforate web
and entangled myself in her tendrils,
entwined among the strands of lies
i will never unravel or touch.
i am imprisoned because she laid me out to shrivel,
yet she creeps into every drop of ink i try to squirt.
if she spoke to me sweetly, i would never protest,
but i know she broke me as a consequence of coding
as i was cursed with half a lens and inferior sex,
lacking her inherent gift. i was never competition
but a tool to be used. i only wonder how thoroughly
i've been soaked with all the years spent trapped by her.
may i look forward to a suffocating wave washing me away
or a display case in a laboratory i'll never deserve?
may i be brittle but unbreakable, untainted by sticky dirt?
the problem with time is that i let go, and everything collapsed.
i want to remember the future
and not the past,
see the glass upon the table
before it crashed,
never knowing it was once shattered on the ground.