Wednesday, September 16, 2015

The Break Up

Fresh, bloody shards,

might have beens,

lay scattered.

I stand,

my hands

still supplicant,

staring at

the kitchen tile,


the tiniest pieces

will never be swept up,

thrown away.

I will step on them,

reminded of you,

for years to come.


  1. Oh yes, those tiny pieces find the nubile flesh of your foot at the worst times.

    This was just beautiful and achingly true.

  2. The past can never be erased but will prick as shards. Reality.

  3. Nice layers in this. That image of the supplicant hands especially stood out for me.


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