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Once
I held a glass hand in my hand,
and this other hand of mine
had fingers, one of which pointed
towards there. Determined
like a halcyon gaze - you know
onward

Then
I held a murky thought in my mind
and this furtive idea I had conjured
made fickle threats against this
other hand of mine. It said
fornever

And so
I noticed a crack in the inner psalms
of this other hand of mine;
a broken voice that once held direction
now hollow like an eerie halloween tree,
a grimace tucked under shadows
growing...

when
I also noticed blood
dripping from my own palm
for I was holding on tightly
maybe even
too tightly.

This is where the narrative digs a shallow grave in lieu of ending; I've decided it ought to catch a few - just a few - Zs, and I've given it a bell and some string to be safe. Just remember kids, glass is too fragile to hold tightly, that's why platitudes embellish themselves through plastic - for although it can be deformed, it is all but fragile.