Looking at these tiny objects
You may wonder what they are
Broken pieces of something beautiful
A cup, ball or something of glass
They are, but broken pieces
Not of objects of glass
Ruined and shattered pieces
Of my fragile heart
Coloured in red and black
Red by blood, black my heart
Struggling, failing and still attempting
The white tries to join the parts
The white thread is trying to stitch
Broken pieces of my broken heart
The stupid is unable to see
That the stitches will leave some marks
No use of all the stitches
No use of working hard
No need to fix my broken heart
Because in the end it will fall apart.
