He washed himself with
broken glass, the phone wouldn't
stop ringing and he couldn't
forget. Said they wouldn't get
out of his head. I found him
in the bathtub one night, barley
breathing. He said the glass resembled everything he had
lost and everything he had
broken. But I couldn't handle
the site of his ****** nose, so we
sat on the bathroom floor for a
while and I started fitting all
the broken pieces back
together. I stuck the shards against
his skin, put his spine back into
place. And I got a little messed
up along the way. But I didn't
quite mind. His smile was the
only thing I ever wanted to see.
It was the only thing that could
put me to sleep. Eventually his
bones came back to form and
he could stand up straight.
He healed well enough to get
up and walk away. And he
never took me with. So I'm
still sitting here on the
bathroom floor, wondering if
the broken pieces are his or
mine. *I should probably get
the **** up.