I hold you in my hand,
careful not to shatter you.
They say, you are fragile.
You look vulnerable, I agree.
I know I could crush you to bits,
with just a minute measure
of strength.
One thing I forgot:
You are Broken Glass.
Yes, you can crumble, easily.
But, it is also your nature
to wound, when held.
So, with blood pouring, profusely,
into the ground; I hold myself still.
For, you've pierced my soul,
unintentionally.
You say you're sorry;
Yet, I'm already in
the throes of death.
-