to c.
because you're cracked.
The shattered pieces
catch the light and blind me.
And you look so pitiful there, lying
in your own glittering mess
like a child whose costume
box has exploded.
I long to pick you up: not
to be your friend
but to fix you. I reach down,
trusting and ungloved,
but the shards are sharp.
My blood is everywhere;
I don't have much left.
I am told that was your plan
all along, but it can't be so.
I refuse to believe it.
No one is that cruel.
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