Skin Like Stained Glass -An Incorrect Sonnet-

My life is shattered pieces of stained glass, a thousand puzzle pieces on the ground, under a skeleton of amder brass, red, blue, green, yellow, breaks without a sound. I pick up pieces, trying to see me, but I just cut my fingers on the side. Now just an obscure view is all I see, and it makes me wonder how much I hide. But its those moments when the rain falls down, and the rust washes right off my skin. When I catch a speak at my glowing crown, and the clear glass lets me see within. So I put together my stained mirror, and swore that I wouldn't break, or disappear.