Obsidian

Glass, and metal soiled.

To spite a failed revenge.

Crying, with metal tears,

into your obsidian hands.

Unknowing of the damage.

You helped with obsidian hands,

because obsidian doesn’t break.

Until, it breaks when I grab.

It cuts, as I drop the pieces.

Another obstacle you put between us.

Your shattered hands, scattered.

Metal tears harden as they fall.

I walk barefoot,

over glass and metal.

Too damaged,

to feel the pain.

By: Victor Aguilar