my nails are brittle, <br />so is this shell <br />surrounding my mind, <br />inside metals grind. <br />they want to get out, <br />but springs hold them back. <br />self-control, self-amusement <br />is something i lack. <br />what began as a look <br />morphed into a touch. <br />i have to admit, <br />the touch was too much. <br />words stuck on my tongue, <br />i tried to refuse. <br />but he knew that i wanted <br />and needed abuse. <br />can i even feel human without being used? <br />can i feel more robotic speaking on cues.<br /><br />Ana Podarevska<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/brittle/
