Shards

There are slivers of glass in my eyes

placed carefully when you obscured my view of

beauty and of paradise

They stung when you pushed them in

tears with salt sharp edges

tracing outlines of melancholy memory

Now I see through the slivers

prisms turning colour into darkness

focusing the light into single points of

laser burnt ash

And when I ask – myself of course

why you would do this thing, to me

I can only reply, that this must be

what love is

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