You collect the shattered pieces of your soul,
and analyse them long enough to memorise the very shape of each
and every shard.
You try to glue the pieces back together,
after all, you’ve become a master of
the shape of your heart.
Hopeless (still naive)
You give up
and instead, squeeze the splinters in your hands
so the broken glass of your soul can at least feel one with your body again.
You try to cover up the scars with bandages and
until you start to forget that the pain is even there
but sometimes you have to take off your gloves.
Maybe this time you’ll use a different type of glue.