A colored piece of glass,
On the ground in the grass.
Colored yellow, blue, green, and red,
Who broke it?
Are they dead?
No one knows,
Yet why should they care.
Circles and circles going in a infinite loop,
Round and round in and out of my head.
Burning with the question of who broke the glass,
Did I do it?
I can't remember,
The memories are blocked or gone,
The fear in the breath of not knowing.
The mind is slipping,
Is it going?
The glass in its broken state,
Can no longer be the one to commentate.
So I'll sadly say the point thats true,
I in a sense feel like that glass.
How about you?