Everyone you meet
is broken glass, a
destroyed
pile of a
person.

Pieces of us lie all over the ground.
You have to be careful
where you step.
We have all been
dropped and cracked
and kicked.

We are all ******- some worse
than you. You at least tried to
pick up the mess
along the way. Most people
leave pieces
stranded. A fraction of
a soul as
road ****.

Everyone is stepped on and crushed
and dug into the ground,
soaked like red wine into the
off-white carpet.
There will never not
be a stain.

You handed me one of your
puzzle pieces,
a fragment of shell,
a souvenir.
I tried to glue you back
together, to carry you, to fix
you, my darling, because
we traded.

I tried to give you
my pain as well, heart shaped and
sharp like chipped bone. But
it didn't fit, and it was heavy,
and it was mine. So you
gave it back.