Shards

Shards,
Your shards you have to pick up,
Shattered all over the flo’r,
Scattered like someone knocked over a house of cards,

How can you look at yourself?
Blame the shards for cutting your hands,
Cuss them out using every scornful name said by man,
Letting them taking blame for your assumptions more than you are, yourself.

Bitter than coffee,
Arrogance as “rich” as cigars’ ashes dumped in an ashtray,
Mad because your lifestyle’s not turned out how you want it to be,
Show negligence to the world and every life because everything didn’t go your way.

Blame who,
Blame what,
Never had a fingerprinted clue,
No one else but you forced you to give up.

There’s the other way,
A dust pan,
A broom,
Sweep that old mirror out of your room.

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