i wonder if it's strange how i divide up the moments in my life;
what happened before
and after.
before and after my life was irreparably damaged,
torn into
little
tiny
*******
pieces.
i'm not a poet, nor would i describe myself as all too artistic, but as i stand in the shower, wrapping shaky arms around my scarred, damaged, ****** up body, i wonder if an artist would find any beauty in my wreckage.