She was made of glass, I’m sure
Her beauty was her perfection; flawless,
Optically correct, one might say,
But she was hard with a sharp tongue,
And after a while the brittleness grew,
Her motives were transparent,
I should have been more careful, when I put her back,
But feeling dropped, she shattered
Razor shards and splinters flew, some cutting me
Oh, the pain of glass.