Lindsay’s Scribblings

Shards of broken glass line the interior vena cava
Splicing deeper and deeper with every beat
Shards of broken glass left from the world that was her prism
Slivers of color still remain
And in the light she sees a rainbow.
In the light, through her feeble attempts at remodeling
To form something not as good as the original
Not as flawless or as shiny new
Not the same as the original
But something different altogether
Bits and pieces of sanity, experiences, and regrets
Thumb-tacked together and caulked with knowledge
A mosaic, of sorts,
To round off the biting edges of the past
A mosaic made of broken glass
To recycle what was used, shattered, and
Unsuspecting until the moment of impact.

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