After I have dropped it on the desk
And cursed myself to seven years of bad luck
I do not know how to pick it up
Without cutting myself on the jagged shards
In this one the left corner of my mouth,
In this on my right eye, red and puffy
In this one my right palm gently leaking blood
From my first attempt to pick up the pieces
Didn't do me any good.
There is no word left in my vocabulary for
"The opposite of broken"
There's no word for
"What happens after I shatter" anymore
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