Glass hearts, so fragile, so easy to break.
My heart is shattered. Shards of broken pieces stab my insides. Moving forward hurts. Moving backwards hurts more.
Maybe I love the feeling of pain. Maybe I love brokenness and depression because it makes me feel something.
Maybe I love getting hurt over and over again because I deserve it.
Maybe I love giving a piece of myself to people so freely…
Broken pieces of my heart trail behind me. A part of me I gave to someone. Someone who didn’t want it. A part of me is broken. A sliver of my heart missing…
In the pain, I see in blue. The world is bleak; more so am I.
I’m angry. I’m furious.
I see in red. I bleed anger, frustration, hate.
I bleed brokenness.
I bleed from the cuts of broken glass.
I bleed for my heart.
I am broken.
I am glass.