What's left

March 13, 2010
By Anonymous

Knock quietly on the broken door
You can come in but please don't touch
There's shards of glass lying on the floor
I've learned not to go near because they cut
Look around the run down shack, all that's left of what used to be
On a stand there's a picture; cracked
I can't get it out of there even though it haunts me
Don't go further, can you even go back?
Without falling in my misery and tormented by our past
Breathe heavily, try to think
Dont you see
This place is what's left of me

The author's comments:
I wrote this when I was about 11 years old. A lot of bad things were going happening, and one person was causing all of them. I don't respect this poem as much as I once did, but I still value it because it comes from a very deep source of emotions in me.

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