After I shatter,
will I still matter?
Cracks burning around the cold knife,
trying to hold onto my life,
shaking with each breath I take,
feeling myself slowly break,
not yet showing on the skin,
though the pain's growing within.
Glass rolls down my cheek as I cry,
desperately not wanting to die,
losing each and every shard,
till there's nothing to discard.
YOU ARE READING
my poems
PoetryEach of my poems are their own entity, shaded in different hues and personalities. They are empathetic with many universal themes.
