There's this loud...
Piercing,
Erupting,
Cracking,
Yet what is that sound I hear. Is it the shattering of glass. Or is it a shattering of a piece of me. Will I be okay without it? Can I live with this shattered piece. A glass broken and imbedded so deep I could not find it myself. Yet..
I knew,
I
Will,
Be,
Fine,
Because shattered glass may make me bleed but it can always be collected in pieces and be put together once again its just bleeding glass in the end.
YOU ARE READING
Sad Devices
PoetryCollection of poems by me! Im still a newbie im just barely getting into it but I do write Fanasty and I have one Teen Fiction story already out so check those out! Like clockwork, Turning, & Clicking, Until It Stops
