A line of vases
the wind blows against
knocking them over,
but only a few left broken

Some picked back up,
others left with just a scratch
but i'm part of the batch
that shattered.

Built back up,
glued together,
you can't erase the damage done by this weather,
leaving me unwanted forever

Left there all alone
to be knocked over
or thrown
until i've shattered once more
so you just leave me on the floor

because i'm
too far gone,
yes, you made me
too far gone
and now no one will piece me back together.

i might have become
         h o l l o w
         as the bottles i drank
                       numb
             as my cold fingers
      e m p t y
        as the inbox on my phone
         disoriented
  as how this poem is typewritten

how much more naiveté
do i have to go through
in order to realize
because i know im hurting
yet i dont know how to explain the pain

she was correcting
one  
     by
         one
all the mistakes of her past,
with an eraser and a pencil
in a bleak room painted clinical white.