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Pieces
Pieces,
Broken pieces,
Just those left.
That’s all I have,
Left over from the drop,
From your hands to the floor;
When it hit the floor it shattered,
Its fragility revealed as it scattered into corners,
How can I possibly find all the missing pieces,
Pieces smaller than I could possibly put back together again?
How can I refrain from stepping on them now,
As I hunt among the age old wreckage,
Of a slowly wrecked life of sorrow,
Picking up shards as I go?
So many you dropped,
Leaving me in,
Many broken,
Pieces.

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