Shattered

I'm shattered.

My pieces lay all around me on the floor.

I'm nothing.

I can still breathe,

I don't want be.

I don't want to be alive,

So why am I?

Why am I here?

Why am I wasting this space?

It could be occupied

by someone who would want it.

I'm a waste of space,

A waste of air,

A waste

Waste

Waste.

My pieces won't be picked up by anyone.

There's no one who cares.

Not anymore.

Who will be my glue?

Who will pick me up

And be my savior?

No one.

I have no one.

I'm alone

Alone

Alone

In a world full of people.

So tell me,

Why would I want to pick up my shattered self?