Shattered.

My glass was half full.

And you saw it half empty.
Trying to maintain balance it leaned from side to side.
And somehow you managed to get it to run over.
It fell of course.
And out poured your bitchy ways, split personalities,
name calling and facades.
I picked up the glass and pain.
Pain, pain, pain.
Thinking this anguish was coming from my crushed feelings
of the glass being broken.
But it wasn’t.
Turning over my hands and blood.
Gushing and gushing.
So I blacked.
And I blacked.
And I blacked some more.
And it felt good.
It felt good to see you have nothing to say.
It felt good to finally get things off of my chest.
And it felt good to lose you.