Writer's Block.

Cracks.

I woke up, facing the cracked window.

It wasn't well lit, though.

For I woke up very early in the morning,

Wondering and stuff, maybe mourning.

I saw my shattered heart, cracked like my window, lying in the cold hard ground.

I sighed and walked towards it, then caressed it with a frown.

Oh, my poor hands are bleeding.

I thought they cared, but who am I kidding?

-Ploys.