im fighting a losing game, afraid i will shatter into crystalline shards. maybe you will cut yourself on the broken pieces, trying to piece me back together; to what i once was. what is broken can be fixed. it would be nice to be the same. you may stick me back together, protecting my pathetically fragile self with a velvet casing. one day, somebody may come; request to visit the carefully constructed tower of myself. they should look; not touch. but when the shards of myself are back on the dirty ground as they once were, perhaps you will feel it is too tiresome; to cut your fingers over and over, to try to figure out where the pieces go. to take care, to tiptoe around me as if i shall sting you at any moment. i understand; this time i shall pick the broken shards of myself up on my own; try my best to replicate what i saw in the mirrors of these memories with you. i try my best, for them to maybe accept me once again, for them to hopefully see me as the shell of my old self come alive again.
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YOU ARE READING
spent and silenced
شِعرits a book filled with vignettes and shit i write occasionally lmao
