My life is like broken glass in my hands What was once a beautiful ornament, now is shattered pieces of glass The terror that came in the night Has become the terror of the day
It’s like I’m in a desert of mess both caused by self and involuntary occurrences Like poison in the water The pain has crept into the crevices of my soul
They block the light that tried to break through Their shadows reminded me of the shame and sorrow Still they tell me things like I have a normal life You know just do, just try But to be honest, this little boy is scared
Take my hand Your hand… My hand scarred
It’s hard to believe when you face death in the eyes When you face sorrow in the night
Let the sorrow sweep you away says the pain It’s a good friend, and a solid place Till you are comfortable enough Till it chokes you to death
But what happens when there is no light?
I use these broken pieces of glass And throw them in the air, using the broken pieces to shine the light I need
BROKEN GLASS Standing here in front of me Are many pieces before me Looking down all I see Are different colored pieces Of what was me Broken, shattered and scattered Use to resemble me The glass I see before me
Not yet, the courage will wait for the curtain to fall, will then disappear in awakening; the crucial thing was the love of absence the scythe of eclipsed moon. Suspense hangs from the tall image in slow turn of thighs
the first is touch losing touch sense of touch losing softness losing abrasions… in dark amputation… this is how it was, my mother did not die, just detached, gradually less tenuously linked to life, until there was no link… now
Though I clearly see Paralleling traits, Corresponding facets Astonishingly quaint This complex, albeit moving, Prominent connection Holds a minute blemish Worthy of reflection. Contrast, yes there’s one, A distinction can be drawn, For you’re rarely right, While I’m never wrong!