shards

4.0 broken

Your words,

harsh but honest,

knock me over.

On the floor, I shatter.

You try to pick me up

and cut you're fingers on the shards of me -

the broken pieces of what had been

and could have been.

You try to fix me with sticky tape,

but some wounds

will never heal.

And after a long time of trying,

you have to sweep me up with a wooden broom

and toss me in a graveyard of other broken things.

You've messed up,

you realise too late.

And now I'm gone.