I was a mosaic collected in scratched nails imbedded, bleeding like I was meant to be touched but can you really grasp a reflection..
How could you identify what I see, within the fallen feathers of a crows smiles. I'm hidden within, a pile of dead bones wishing to fly again.
I could walk within the footsteps of those in front of me on calm sands. But I choose to run on a beach of shattered shells, this is life! broken dreams never really washing away.
I see smiles kept aloft by matchsticks, ready to ignite. Within there embers embracing the true reflection of how I see others. Parched realties of never really loving you or another for the failures of there integrity.
I could love, in blindness. But what is seen is nothingness.. I could love, in thought. But memories will always lie to oneself. I could have love, in myself. But nothing ever comes from that..
Until I realize that I'm not in control of this collage of moments. I'm a Paper-Mache, randomly collecting on a frame work of contemplation, that I will only see on the completion of my life.
I'm but a part that I thought was irrelevant, immaterial. But I'm just a piece of life collecting on the shattered shells slowly reforming to realize there is more to life than sandy shores.