And the mirror shattered onto the earth,
All the pieces that reflected his heart
We’re scattered lifelessly onto the ground,
With no will, they were left trampled underfoot,
By the faceless people that make up this world,
Many were grinded into dust,
Others tossed to the wind,
And the man was left there, with a mocking shadow
That too joined the faceless crowd,
He was now alone, but not so,
For his memories still assaulted the glass,
That was long broken.
Haunted and desolate, to the darkness he returned,
For the world was better without him,
So his mind had begged,
But to return to the darkness,
To the ground he must go,
Time seemed endless without hope,
And existence without resolve,
Is best left to the dead.
Feeling this truth,
He grabbed a rope,
And tied it to the fan above,
With his aching bones,
He stepped up onto the glass table
For hopefully the last time,
Shivering with tears in his eyes,
He tied the rope around his neck
And kicked the glass table to the side,
His face quickly filled with blood,
As he gurgled and he spewed,
These were his last breaths, he knew,
But like his mind, the fan was too weak,
And he crumbled to the ground,
Shattering the glass table below.
He woke up a bloody mess, surrounded by glass of his death
He had lost both his life and his death, that day
And now the question is, what is left?
So desperate he became,
And he picked up a piece of glass,
“Heck if I…will lose my heart today”
He muttered, as he clawed the carpet floor,
Collecting any speck of dust that once,
Made up the reflection of his heart.