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I run my hands down the cracks of my own skin —the once fragile face I wore is not marred with scars and burns from my years under the stars— I look into the mirror to see myself matching the shards in it until I realize I'm flawed and always have been
After a long while of being left and worn down by selfish people who can't spare a thought about me—I realize now— I'm broken and there's nothing on earth that can fix me
I try to look for the solution for that missing piece in my own puzzle —I never did find it— I start to wonder if it exists at all There's no fixing people who are flawed —we just carry on living— the blood from our torn soles and the spirit from our shorn souls trail from behind us
After a long while I run my hands over my ebbing skin —feeling the prickles of memory from the moments that were— then I smile at the mirror matching the scars in my face because now I realize I'm flawed and there's nothing that can fix me
