I stare at myself,
tracing the edges of
each glass shard
laying on the ground.
Face warped.
Hands broken.
Heart twisted.
I pick them up one
by one, feeling the
sting each shard leave
on my fingertips.
Some pieces don't
fit. Others are lost.
Blood stains each piece
recovered.
I see myself hanging
on the wall once I'm done.
I look closer.
I try not to look for the cracks this time.
//
YOU ARE READING
Caffeine and Me
PoetryA collection of poetry ranging from brain farts to exploring why I bother getting up in the morning. Most likely there is some form of caffeine to keep me awake (or alert) enough to type my thoughts out regarding my depression, struggles within my d...
