My Heart Of Glass?

Image result for sad eyes

I wonder looking through the glass,

Am I more broken or it?

Are my pieces as delicate as it lies?

Or are they as sharp edged as mine within?

Like fingers touch these shards and bleed,

Will I too hurt and bleed from within?

They may replace this glass, some day,

But what do we do with a broken heart?

Why is it made so delicate then,

When there is no replacement or a guarantee?



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