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Array ( [sid] => 22289 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Broken Glass [time] => 2003-08-24 10:05:00 [hometext] => An impersonal look at my own feelings, always easier that way, I figure. [bodytext] => Looking upon the cold, hard, wet ground,
Running silently,
Bare foot heart beat,
Continues hauntingly down the street,
As the shadows merge,
Into one forbidding darkness,
Hiding, her thoughts, her memories,
She has nothing, and will always be nothing,
Struggling on, her pale skin, damp, cold, dead,
She reaches the church, sanctuary,
Rain beating hard at the window,
Gazing at her own self-abused body,
An ornamental oddity,
Her mind lost, without trace,
As her heart stagnates,
She lights a candle for her life,
It flickers,
As does her lame heart,
She collapses to the floor,
Her dress torn, weeping,
Screaming in anger,
Begging forgiveness,
She strikes herself, bewildered, but sure,
She takes a small statue from beside the font,
Throws it weakly but with the power of her rage,
Through the adjacent window,
Shattering such a pretty picture,
She picks up a fragment of the broken glass,
And slashes wildly at her arm,
Blood hits the sacred stone floor,
Gravity, or maybe fear,
Pull her, once again, to the ground,
Cracking her skull as if it was china,
No more tears, she lies perfectly still,
A moment of tranquility descends,
Upon the holy building,
A slight breeze howls through her,
She opens her eyes, momentarily,
Watches the distorted candle,
The flame lies,
Extinguished. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 216 [topic] => 36 [informant] => crimson_purity [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Suicide )

Broken Glass

Contributed by crimson_purity on Sunday, 24th August 2003 @ 10:05:00 AM in AEST
Topic: Suicide

Looking upon the cold, hard, wet ground,
Running silently,
Bare foot heart beat,
Continues hauntingly down the street,
As the shadows merge,
Into one forbidding darkness,
Hiding, her thoughts, her memories,
She has nothing, and will always be nothing,
Struggling on, her pale skin, damp, cold, dead,
She reaches the church, sanctuary,
Rain beating hard at the window,
Gazing at her own self-abused body,
An ornamental oddity,
Her mind lost, without trace,
As her heart stagnates,
She lights a candle for her life,
It flickers,
As does her lame heart,
She collapses to the floor,
Her dress torn, weeping,
Screaming in anger,
Begging forgiveness,
She strikes herself, bewildered, but sure,
She takes a small statue from beside the font,
Throws it weakly but with the power of her rage,
Through the adjacent window,
Shattering such a pretty picture,
She picks up a fragment of the broken glass,
And slashes wildly at her arm,
Blood hits the sacred stone floor,
Gravity, or maybe fear,
Pull her, once again, to the ground,
Cracking her skull as if it was china,
No more tears, she lies perfectly still,
A moment of tranquility descends,
Upon the holy building,
A slight breeze howls through her,
She opens her eyes, momentarily,
Watches the distorted candle,
The flame lies,
Extinguished.

Copyright © crimson_purity ... [ 2003-08-24 10:05:00]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: Broken Glass (User Rating: 1 )
by bobotheclown on Wednesday, 27th August 2003 @ 06:29:25 AM AEST
(User Info | Send a Message)

This is powerful you definitely have talent to express yerself. Keep yer chin up and keep on writing what ur thinking. This is beautiful.

Bobo (Joel)

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