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



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



In a world full of people.

So tell me,

Why would I want to pick up my shattered self?