March 13, 2011
By , Boston, MA
Trudging down the streets, I glance down.
There on the worn cement I see the cracks.
I hadn’t noticed them before
but now they taunt me.

I have been trampled
worn down,
and left behind.
If I have not yet been broken how much more time do I have?
The cement beneath my feet has broken,
why haven’t I?

Why do I still decay?
as hate devours my soul,
and i am left in this empty shell.

One day it will shatter,
and I will be left broken, like the cement that supports my feet.

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