A glass bowl slips from grip
Shattering to pieces
When meets the floor.
Shocked and confused, I stared;
Feeling myself shattered.
I have got to pick up and keep going!
It’s a must but,
What have I done?
Will they be mad?
Should I say something or leave it be?
The questions crashed against my head like waves.
Focusing out I then see,
Blood trickling down from my ankle;
Area of sliced skin,
A slim, clean cut made by the glass bowl’s pieces.
Letting it bleed leaves a reminder of mistake, fault;
I shed blood as consequence
Though, how much pain can one person take?
Must we carry on until our breaking point?
Even if one was to try and piece back together,
One piece;
Big or small would be lost,
Or not hold to fit.
How can we hold to fit?