So silent you sit.
So still.
Are you still broken?
Ground to your inner-most core,
are you still unable to help yourself?
To pick up your pieces and assemble the puzzle?
The glass is shattered,
too many images cast from each shard.
Too sharp to touch without blood.
Can you find the true image?
Can you stand the pain?
From each nick of your esteem,
the red rises higher.
The pieces stay scrabbled and spread.
Can you survive?
And put yourself back together?
So silent you sit.
So still.
Are you still broken?
