I'm walking

to my car from your beach. 

When I say walking I really mean

limping.

 

Those glass shards, hidden under the sand

not seen until it's too late

it's almost as if it was fate,

when I started slipping 

and cut my hand.

 

So I sat to mend 

the wound I obtained,

the dress I wore would be stained

when I started snipping

some of the cloth I had on hand.

 

Then I realized how angry I was 

because of you,

my feet were cut too

when I attempted to stand 

to go find some gauze.

 

The shards stuck fast

so I had to lean on a chair

suck up my dignity; what was left the size of a hair

to fix the bloody mess of me. 

 

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