temper

Shards of glass

pointed

poignant

what secrets do you hold?

Double-edged

sharpness

I see my reflection

in your jagged face

possessed of

a most evil malaise

tempered by frustration

deeper you bore

down to the core

spouting forth growths

and setting free blood

the hole left

once you’re gone,

the black void

echoes your shape

the shadow of your might.

The hole you make

when puncturing me

matches nothing

but a streak of crimson

on the cold morning floor.