The broken glass on the floor
waiting to be swept
Reflecting everything
passing through the door
The distorted smiles
Distorted fingers,
toes and faces
Till it all vanishes
to naught
Sitting on a broken chair
in front of the television
To keep it closed
for as long as possible
To doubt the secrets
the shadows whisper
But somehow
the crack in the broken chair
has opened up
And now lying on the floor are
Patches of reality waiting to be
stitched up
Broken knees,
broken hearts
Screaming with urgency
The taste of blood
has never been so strong
Fearing the gradual changes
of the seasons
I can see it from the gaps
in between my fingers
Darkness is lingering
Waiting for me
to come back home