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The Broken Glass

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The broken glass is scattered all along the floor
The pieces just lay there not moving and transparent
They look jagged and rough, like they could cut you in a second
They taunt me from where they lay, drawing me towards them
Daring me to pick them up and throw them away
The shards glimmer in the bit of light coming through the Kitchen window
This draws me nearer still, the temptation growing with every second
But, you see, if I make an attempt to pick up the pieces I will get cut and will bleed
No longer can I surpass the urge, I gently pick them up one by one
But as I extend by hand out to the last shard, the pieces slip, each one cutting my hand
The blood coming out of my veins is pulsing
I can’t help but gaze at the blood running down my arm
I am mesmerized by the slow trickle of it all, but finally I grab something to stop the bleeding
At first nothing changes but then the blood stops flowing and things are at peace again
I glance at the shards of broken glass, it is once again scattered on the floor
After starring at them for what feels like hours but must only be minutes, I walk away
Leaving the pieces there, broken and scattered.





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