"His bones leaked into his flesh, his stomach seeped into what was left.
His muscles seemed to be what he lacked, but only if that's what they had thought when they had stabbed his back.
Till the blades tip reached its beak, he endured the inflammable fire that pierced his artery.
It made its way to his lungs and engulfed it, slowly but surely he lost, himself, his purpose.
His shattered pieces were held by the thickest of my glue, but the cracks had already turned a dainty, horrible blue.
It broke my frozen demeanour and cracked my highest wall when I heard he was missing from deep within the halls.
I saw him that day, far in the corner, the only difference left was that he was holding a flower.
He looked so peaceful with his closed eyes but I saw through that face and heard his silent cries."
YOU ARE READING
Shattered
Poetry"She held on to the thorn knowing it would prick her, and grabbed on to it's roots knowing she would fall, but the hope that flickered in her eyes always seem to shimmer, nothing demolished it at all, she carved her art on the canvas and set the li...
