Weak
poem:
shattered glass hurt me...
with fine predicament.
in silence...
as pieces of which stabbed me in slowly.
traces of blood.
as skin opened deep.
a sight of pain.
a smell of innocence.
and a feeling of injustice.
a touch from underneath.
tears left my eye.
frustrations...
a call from somewhere.
voices reverberated...
inside this very soul o' mine.
a bottle of alcohol,
and a piece of soft cloth.
a sight of pain.
a smell of innocence.
and strong feeling of prejudice.
for had i known...
this shattered glass hurt me.
but i could do nothing but to cry.
in sorrow i left for.
in sorrow i came to.
i was hurt.
but all i could do was to cry.
for this shattered glass hurt me...
was i that weak?
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