Broken People by Robert M. Drake

I yearn for broken things.

For the things

that make drunk lovers

fall into eachother

in the middle of the night

and the things

that keep them up

while the rest of the world

is asleep.

I love you,

I need you to break me,

and I don’t want you

to apologize

for it

at all.

Glass

Glass hearts, so fragile, so easy to break.

Broken glass.

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’m fragile.

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.

 

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