Glass

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Like the shattering of ice on a frigid lake in the dead of winter,
like the ever spreading cracks in a glittering silver mirror,
like the breaking of a delicate egg shell,
I am broken.

A toy left to rot in the attic of an abandon home I sit watching time tick away,
slick grains of sand slipping through loose fingers unaware of the loss,
a heart missing pieces and a head full of holes,
little bits of who I was bursting from the seams.

Broken like the glass I sent my fist through the night I lost you.

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