I am nothing more than broken pieces
shattered after falling
what once was whole, divided now
when reality came calling
and once I sat upon a shelf
where no one else could hurt me
upon my shelf all by myself
I'm alone, you can't desert me

I am nothing more than a pageless book
void of any reason
no longer will the backdrop change
nor will the month or season
when once I had within my pages
never-ending power
to liberate the mind and soul
to blossom like a flower

I am nothing more than a flake of dust
made of human skin
when once a part of something more
expelled for guilt-soaked sins
ousted from the warmth and love
of which I was a part
I now succumb to gailing winds
that detached me from my heart


you are nothing more than a burning flame
growing large each moment more
that burned the shelf on which I sat
and dropped me to the hard-wood floor
before you tore my cover
destroying knowledge of the ages
you nipped at the edge of my slowly browning
slowly burning pages

you are nothing more to me than my
anti-hopes and dreams
everything inside my head
you run in crimson streams
drowning hearts and soggy souls
my tears turn flesh to rust
a cancer killing, crying, cruel...
changing life to dust

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