Through the broken window I see a broken world.
Abandoned, lost and forgotten. A society unfurled.
In the broken window I see memories of your face,
Walking away departing forever this place.
On the broken window lies a coat of my blood,
Flowed out of me there, poured out like a flood.
Around the broken window the paint is peeling.
Seems symbolic of what I should be feeling.
Under the broken window lie fragments of glass,
Reflecting the torment of a long tortured past.
Beside the broken window a table of steel.
Cold and unmoving, this is how I truly feel.
The world darkens, but the window remains,
Never to be repaired shattered in its frame.
That broken window was the cause and the start,
And now in the end resembles my heart.
