Shattered glass on tiled floors might do more damage than good
damning the existence of gravity
exposing the frugality of human kind
granting clarity that all that’s broken can not be fixed.
In the wake of attempts to clear chaos
once all our hands are remains of blood and muscle,
the glass remains broken
our shredded selves, remains.

Housed in this glass are demons
those I’m afraid to show
that I’m sure you don’t want to see
I see a history that set alight all that could’ve been
forgetting that no love can come through
so I pour my loneliness into you
seeking solace after every stroke
that your rhythm can still my violent waters
the violence of my existence.
whispered silence
over
shattered glass
nothing replaces the coffin confines that’ve drowned inside