Masturbating Is A Tricky Thing When You’re Missing Someone

You will hate the
person that broke
your soul into shards,
as if they had never
heard the metaphor
about glass houses;
you will remember
the day you told them
you were all made of
glass, the day they
fashioned you into a
window and called you
useful while looking
right through your
body.

You will still think of
them when you are
coming, and you will
not mean to.

Their name will slide
its way into your mouth
as you are falling over
the edge of some lonely
pleasure, and you will
fall asleep alone wishing
you had never found the
strength to call someone
your own. You will live
through tonight, and it
will hurt, and you will keep
woefully screaming their
name into your sheets
until the day when you
don’t anymore,
and that is all the
comfort I can
possibly give you.