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The Story of Broken Things
I sit alone in the loud silence of my own,
The sound of crashing things surrounds me,
Why must you throw stones at my glass walls?
And at my collapsing throne and buckling home?
Beautiful tragedies stretch out in front of me,
An array of pain, impossible desires, and hurt.
Shattered glass bits of people litter the floor,
All those you have stoned except for me.
She told me to grab your stones in my fist,
To hold them tight and meet your empty eyes.
She told me to stand tall in my glass castle,
Only, she didn’t fight you, she didn’t resist.
It is up to me, now, to let your stones crack my walls,
And shatter them into useless bits of meaningless pain.
I can’t defeat you if I can never touch your calloused hands.
I will shout my demons away in these echoing halls.
I will set my wooden crown on the flames of my
Fireplace, raging with all the truths inside my heart.
My bones are made of stone, we are so alike.
The walls respond to my cries with only a whisper of a sigh.
Tonight, the flames will leap beyond my heart,
They will scorch you and burn you into just ash.
I hold fire in my bones that will set you ablaze,
Didn’t anyone tell you that you can’t break glass without getting cut?
Remember that when glass shards run in your veins,
When fear clamps your stony heart in its fist.
I will bring you to your knees with my smoke,
And knight you with my stone sword.
Then, you will shatter, break, and fall
For you are made of glass, too.
I will break the breaker, the destroyer of love.
I’m not afraid to get cut.