Forgive my lack of sincerity in living,
for my heart just isn't in it right now.
Not for lack of trying,
you see,
but simply as a result
of IT,
it would seem.
The cup that runneth over
long ago crashed to the floor
among all other burdens
and mishaps and maladies-
scattered near my feet,
shards of tiny fine-boned china.
I'd pick them up, but I'd only wind up
bleeding once again.
These cuts don't heal when they are
scarring your soul
from years of being imbedded
and uncared for.
Oh to drink from the glass of hope
and not fear
the shattering of it in your hands.
Every time I take a mere sip,
the more it crackles within'
like a dribble glass-
though not very funny.
So forgive me if I'm not
smiling enough right now
to please the masses,
or those close around me,
who wouldn't even know a tear of mine
if it hit them square in the face.