Broken Toys

Once filled with joy and wonder, Now cracked with blood and powder, Yet molded by ceramic lava with no ocean lover, Laced by unfiltered poison with no filtered antidote, While punching bag pulses raced through the steamy ridges. The village elders recommended lacquer mixed gold and silver, Though the darkness served ortolon with white linen sheets to cover the hovering shame. Defy the gods and feed the ego, it said. For some egos cant be fed with money or company. This is often masked as strength but musked with volumes of solitude and silence. I remember assasins falling from the sky with rifles and swords, As i stood there with leaves, gin and a blunt knife, Yesterday's reflection of me got me helplessly drunk It was religiously and morally sinful Delivering delightful insight which a lost soul like me couldnt begin to fathom, The liquor soon slipped from my hand and mind, Leaving me hangover with a hangar filled with empty hangers, Smoke rings choked the pain out of me in the most painless way Every ceramic piece floated with the wind along with my regrets Gravity was a jealous entity, for it brought every piece Crushing to the ground and burning in flames Engraving great wisdom on the flying debris Luckily, the elders lent a hand in putting every molecule of me back together As gold and silver lacquer flowed through the cracks, The cyanide in me seeped out like worms from the soil Each card went back to its rightful place on the deck Almost like a jigsaw puzzle revealing the true wonder and bigger picture only in the end. The completion of a brand new masterpiece and not a fixed broken toy.