PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

And here I sit.  In a thousand broken pieces of yesterday.

All of my dreams.  All of my hopes. 

All that remains are shards, sharp enough to end a life.  Scattered on the floor.  

Among them lays my heart.  Or what used to be.  It bleeds.  Even when there's nothing left inside, it bleeds. 

 Salt-stained cheeks lie against a cold  floor.  The ground, somehow comforting.  Maybe the only comforting thing.  

You see, rock bottom, it always loves you.  Always wants you.  Always calls your name.  It invites you. 

Come here, hug me, it's been too long. 

Not now, I'm happy.  I'm balanced, I'm free.

Oh, my dear, you will be back.  You always come home. 

And it was right.  The familiar cold touch of a cheek on the floor that smells of blood and dreams. The thumping of my former heart.  The taste of salt in my mouth.

Home.  This is home.  In the comfort of the dark.  Alone.  Reflecting on dreams that glimmer in glass.

Home.  Where I'll always come back.