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