broken things, broken bones,

broken lies of hearts beating

the blues, a rhythm, a tattoo

of red ink-stained skin. a cry

of the tongue, the twisted tongue

that is molded by society

to speak things, anything, clean things,

brave things, beautiful things.

 not broken
things. not macabre things.

no red ink pooling from

a rip in the medium. no salty,

bitter tears that squeeze