Thursday, 18 June 2015

A Shard of Himself

He sits all alone in his room
Picking up what pieces he can
He can’t shake this feeling of doom
as he holds what is left in his hand

The shards have all fallen from him
Like glass from a fell picture frame
The pieces all fall from within
And no one remembers his name

No one remembers the tears
That glistened in his soft eyes
All he can see is the pain and the fear
And all those who told him the lies


He knows that he should regret
Hurting the ones who say that they care
Now waiting for deaths soft caress
Only now he admits that he’s scared


He thinks that he won’t be missed
No more chances, he can’t ask for help
Blood pours when he opens his wrist
With a jagged, sharp shard of himself.

  Creative Commons Licence

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