I stare at the shattered glass on the floor.
Why hasn't it broken before.
Maybe it was tired of getting
Touched
Bumped
Dropped
Used.
If I were the glass I would have shattered too.
I think in a way I am the glass
Shattered on the floor.
There's only pieces of me left.
Be careful parts of me are sharp
Sweep me up with a broom
Let the world devour me.
Let me poke little holes in the trash bag.
I may be pieces
But I never disappeared
completely