A trillion pieces,
Makeup my soul,
Lack of compassion,
Of no fault of my very own.
Rediscovering communication,
The pieces slowly are placed together,
But still my very soul is broken,
Shattered is my broken, made out of the finest crystal.
These pieces must one day fit together,
However, the very risks that I am willing to undertake,
Just to make them fit together,
But where is the compassion towards the unmendable heart?
Pieces of you,
Makeup my shattered soul,
Just as well as pieces of me,
Eternity, and serendipity are scarce, and scattered,
Amongst my soul's floor.
Molding, and tumbling down,
Crumbling slowly, is my soul,
How can you point your finger at a shattered soul?
When it's all fault of your very own?
The less we grow apart,
The more we soon loose communication with one another,
The pieces, the shards of mirrored crystal,
Once the reflections of my once solid soul.
Are all the reflections of your very wellbeing.
Are the reflections of your very existence towards me.
What am I to do?
Absolutely no salivation, absolutely no compassion, so alone I sit here to rot.
Committing mental suicide,
Condemned to rot within my anguish of a mental mortal hell,
Silently, I see nothing but silence is met,
Atrophy, I seek no sense of seeking out salivation for myself.
Will these pieces of my soul ever be mended?
Shall I ever see a life far and beyond mental death?
Will there ever be normality within mentality?
These pieces must fit!
~ K. Taylor 2008
