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Pieces

I can feel my heart
like a sponge having the fluids squeezed out of it
held in a tight grip that does not relent
the breaths I take are small
my chest is too compressed
I am broken into pieces, fragmented
every piece  different part of me
trying to put myself back together
but there are pieces I just cannot pick up
when I do they cut me and I bleed
How can I pick up the other pieces if I let them cut me
The cracks these pieces form when I put them together,
they make my surface rough
I am always aware that I am not in one piece
and the holes left by the pieces I cannot bring myself to pick up
will always remind me how incomplete I am
no matter how much I try
what's left is left, and I will always be a broken vessel.

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Book: Reflection on the Important Things