I'm broken.
Falling apart.
Scattered pieces discarded on the floor.
My heart's your old phone,
with it's scattered screen,
discarded in the dust.
I hold no value;
no purpose.
I could disappear and no one would notice.
I'm inside that book you never look at;
that shirt you never wear.
I'm an old disgrace you never want nor care to be seen with.
I used to be whole, but now I'm broken.
I used to have love, but now my heart is shattered.
I used to have meaning, but now I'm nothing.
I used to be wanted, but now I'm set aside.
What does it take to be needed in this world?
Perfection. And I guess that's just something I can't give.
So I'll find someone who would wear this shirt.
I'll find the one who will read this book.
I'll find the person who will think I'm special.
I'll find that guy who will fix my heart.
I'll discover myself that I am not broken. I'm prefectly fine, because I'm me. And I'm broken. But that's perfectly fine by me.
