Do you resent all the wasted time you've spent
gluing pieces together of your soul?

Do you hate how easy they go about cracking,
so that the sound shatters into the unknown?

Maybe there's salvation in the silence somewhere,
if you're quiet enough to hear it on your own.

Broken panes of pieces of yourself -
splintering in your ears like a distant echo.

Try to pull a tiny shard
from the dust
of your hidden and endless desires.

Take the sharpest one
that breaks through the skin,
that was carelessly tossed into a pile.

Just crush it into your anxious palm,
and keep faking your tiny smile.

The blood splatters in between
the fingers of your truth
and that of self-defeating denial.

Chew on the pieces of the things you've hoped for,
because those tear the deepest for awhile.

Watch the red drip from your mouth,
onto the pristine surface of your mind's tiles.

The visual effects of your own wounds,
spins all of your silly emotions into a spiral.

The sensations aren't dizzying enough are they?
You need to fall down to rebuild yourself higher.

Don't they know -
you're just so damn tired?

You threw all the jagged edges on the floor,
just to stroll barefoot on them for a mile.

The need to experience the pain you numbed
when the world forced you
to be its unwilling little fighter.

Bloody footprints intercepting each other,
in an infinite loop and repetitive cycle.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself,
I wonder: is this mangled image of yours
even your true style?

© Merrr