Drawing perfect lines

parallel to perfect cracks

trying to go over

what's been broken for too long.

It's me.

I'm broken.

What once merely bent

under the weight of life,

now cracks

cracks

cracks.

They appear without warning.

And I try to fill them in,

try to cover them

with pretty lines,

with pretty smiles.

But I'm broken.

It doesn't matter what I do.

The end is nowhere in sight.

And still cracks appear.

I wonder now,

how long have I really been broken?

For so long now, it seems.

Far too long.

And being happy?

I've forgotten how.