Shattered, sharp, discordant glint deciding,
holding pattern cruel, the truth deriding,
so is broken on the floor of bitter time,
that which once I held and did call mine.

Edges lethal, splintered, awful suffering,
displayed in chaos, grief in purest uttering,
in that jigsaw which is mind and self,
mocking all that was – fragmented hell.

Tears fell on the glittered, brutal shapes,
washing dreams reflected, out of place,
searing in that acid drip of mournings,
nothing left but deadly pieces – teasing.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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