Even after so long
the red glass still ****** my fingers
and I still see the world of eros love
as a dark room
full of people
with glowing red hearts in their hands
Strong and healthy, they walk into people's arms
with happy smiles and kisses
not a single cautious move is shown
not a single tear is shed in fear
I'm sitting on my knees
on the cold, hard floor
in the center
begging and crying
for someone to pick me up
even though I know
that it had always been my own hands
that lifted me
and that it will always be that way
My heart lays on the ground
the glow is dimmer than the shadow people
that walk around me
ignoring me
ignorant or self absorbed
they step on the already shattered pieces
grinding the red into a glass powder
Some people reach out and pull away their hands
laughing cruelly
teeth glinting red from the hearts they have already devoured
but my own is too wretched and tampered with
for even them to want it.

I don't think I can fix this alone anymore.