Pieces Of Glass

Unpublished pieces

Pieces of glass, cutting.. 
bloodied hands, holding. 

Wrap me up in paper. 

Hold me close until I die. 

Evaporating symbols. 

What does one believe? 
What does one dream? 

Dream of silence, the mystic claims. 
Dream of death, the half empty glass proclaims. 

Pieces of smoke, floating like 
traffic lights. 

Blinking on and off; 
red, yellow, and green. 

Stop the moonlight from coming 
into the room. 

What does one hold onto? 
What does one believe? 


There is nothing to light the 
charcoal for. Burn the papers 
of attachment. 

They turn yellow and grey, grey and yellow. 

Words someone wants to hear. 

And the shift key believes it 
can change the ships sinking 
in the hateful sea 
of malice. 

Practice lying. 

It becomes real if you can get one other person 
to accept the story. 

Pieces of glass, cutting.. 
bloodied hands, holding.

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jimtwocrows's picture

I find myself being a true

I find myself being a true believer(smiling) I am the other person. Thank you Chris!