they are of threaded glass.
those people.
like paper dolls stitched with red, only drop them and they'll shatter.
break their hearts and you break the whole silhouette.
like champagne glasses in a lush's hands
and suddenly those gingerbread friends are floating
in a bubbly stream of orange juice.
i never got the memo.
the photocopied version of that popular radio song.
the one with the chorus you could never remember
and the one with the line about letting me go
and letting me down.
your face is dripping down the counter
and her arms disintegrate onto a cold tile floor.
the spool unravels like loose buttons on a thrift store shirt.
those people.
i'm watching them disappear.
those paper doll cut outs of a life
of a memory
they are of threaded glass.
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