Broken Glass Reflects
The chandelier falls
like fragile trinkets, it breaks.
Like porcelain, china,
it smashes.
Drawn to it
by magnetic force,
I prick my finger
on broken glass.
As I struggle to clean
the glass-strewn floor,
my reflection stares back at me.
Thousands of me
glare up into my eyes
from the tile.
I do not like what I see.
I drop the pieces,
stare up into an angry sky.
It is red,
just like the blood
slowly dripping
from my fingers.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment