do i deserve your sympathy,
even when you see the worst in me?
a mosaic of broken pieces,
sharp fragments of memory,
and time well spent.
i am not a good person,
only crimson reds,
someone colouring in the lines -
trying not to fall off,
but still collecting the evidence:
my dark parts
are cut by the light, so,
the hue of being human
casts the glass either way.
like schrödinger’s cat,
i'm both half full and half empty -
so tell me what's your angle,
can you see right through me?
a mosaic of broken pieces,
sharp fragments of
mistakes and time wasted,
i am not a bad person,
only a prism, of shaded spectrums,
someone walking the line -
trying to balance virtues,
but still collecting the evidence:
my light parts
are cut by the dark, so,
do i deserve your empathy,
just cause you see the best in me?