My heart, a shard of glass,
it does not bleed. There is no more
blood to pour out of me.
It sticks in my throat, cutting my words
into bloody shreds.
Inside I have drowned,
And my life has been cut by
my heart, a shard of glass.
My mind, wet, salty, and bitter,
spills out silently through my eyes,
draining out of my aging hull.
Silently it gracefully hurls itself onto the ground,
and not even the weeds drink from it.
I float aimlessly inside
my mind, wet, salty and bitter.
That is all.