You broke me.
Why can't you fix me?
Did the pieces cut your feet?
Did the porcelain make you bleed?
I know. It hurts, right?
The sting left inside at night?
And bandaids don't heal it,
they just made you cry,
Because you can't really fix it,
and you can't really fight.
And I understand the absence,
the advancements in my head,
A unique side to seeing,
a life trembling in death.
As I am standing,
to prove I'm awake,
How much more pain,
am I able to take?
None.
That's what you can't see;
the more I am feeling,
The less I am free-