the blood slithers down his fingers
a nest of crimson serpents trying to find the floor
drip after drop
his image lays in pieces
where the sanguine splatters pool
the glass shards looking up at him
in the same shock and devastation
his attempt to pick himself up
has wounded him
the release and shatter are numbing
turning July sun
into December night
after each month in between
is slowly counted alone
in nocturnal rains and regret
he waits there alone with his shattered self
hoping to find some glue someday
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