Your words were diamonds,
glimmering with hope,

before they cut
jagged and sharp.

I’ve been shattered,
ever since you sunk in,

hapazardly slapping shiny patches
over the hard scratches.

I am mended for a time,
glass half full,

until one inspects the small rivulet
seeping through the splinters.

A brook weeping at the seams,
glass half empty.