Broken Windows
As I stare into this empty glass,
slowly, an outline of a figure appears.
Sluggish movements, incapable of structural integrity.
An exhausted sigh of relief fills the air.
As the day dwindles into night,
reflections from a puddle mirrors the window.
A sudden shift, cracks abruptly spread.
Grafiti hides a section of the glass,
a pitiful display of raw emotions.
A soul evicted from its home.
Distilled water infects the glass.
The cracks? The stains?
What an embarrassment.
This quality and shape,
I can hardly use it.
Pieces of the glass here and there,
Reflections that no longer exist.
I can't see anything.
I don’t recognize myself.
Despite everything, it’s still me.
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