Broken

She held the pieces in her hands, Broken, bleeding shards of red. They breathed the pulse of broken life, Love, Anger, Hope, and Strife. Her tears, they fell, they fell like rain. For she knew she could not repair it again. These precious shards, they littered the floor. They glittered like rubies; the tears of a whore. They were mixed among others’ varied shades and hues, That sliced her feet open, even when she wore shoes. These burgundy fragments, these vermillion knives, Will bleed on the floor for the rest of their lives. These pieces of heart, of men she once knew, Won’t hear her apologies, no matter how true. The shards she holds now, still wet with his tears, She clutches them close, so they won’t disappear. One slips in her skin, deep into her chest, And her own heart bleeds out… just like all the rest.