Karishma Sonde

Glass Skins and T.S. Eliot

This is the way the world ends.
No;
This is the way my idol
Breaks.
Not with a bang, not with a whimper, but with a
Flip
Of a switch. And you are
Lit.
Scum shining off a grime covered face.
No
Turning my head from the
Mess
I could not before,
See.
Swing a fist, you echo and
Shatter.
Hollow, and I the Stuffed.
But
Now I am hollow,
Too,
To match; stolen dry nothing, I
Miss
The full feeling, but
I
Can no longer stomach the Taste.

 

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