Dec 06

Pick up the Pieces

I sit among the ashes and smoke
Flames extinguished long ago.
Little bits of glass scattered
Mixed in with the decaying coals.
I want to fix them
To pick them up
To make the puzzle whole again.

Of course, this is all in my head.

All the world sees of me is an empty shell
Left in the exhaust of broken love.

But then a hand
Pushes away the haze in front of my eyes.
Pleasant laughter echos around me.
I am loved.
I begin to recover.

But sometimes when I feel alone
I go back to the ashes
Extinguished flame
And pick up the broken pieces of my heart.
About the Author: LadyMidnight
"There is nothing to writing. All you have to do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed." - Ernest Hemmingway