tortured, broken vending machines: those stars, shining the most violent

-- gross. though, I was much honored to touch

once more once more once more; three, two hours were left

silently standing, doubtless to hear you saying my name

wondering if ants do feel pain when you step on them; so, do I --

I was longing; longing for you to drown; the trains stopped moving that day;

we heard riots

roaring, dazzling bubbles of waves took the best years inside

“notice how they never put vending machines on the shore”

because you craved that white sugar hiding under the light

behind the glass; out of our sight; out of reach

was it a mistake, a turning point for us to stop looking for them?

“yeah, I have never seen one at the seaside”

perhaps, vending machines, lully-buzzing at night

are meant to be broken.

captivity cave

Sofia Zilberbord is a 23-year-old writer based in Tel Aviv, Israel. Her writing intertwines with her experience being a young woman & immigrant, so her poetry mostly grasps the feelings of instability, unfairness, and vividness of this world. Currently, she's working on her Master's in Creative Writing. Whenever she's free, she enjoys reading manga and taking care of her baby plants. IG: @s.zilberbord