Broken

Shattered shards of a picture frame,
irreparable,
no way to undo the damage.

Portrait once seen as so perfect
now just a mutilated image.

Words of sad regrets
apologetically expressed by the one who dropped it,
never can fix what is broken.

Always asking yourself
can you still trust the person
to hold anything again?

Heart doesn’t heal from the scars,
they aren’t something
one can forget,
makes mental lines
between memory and acceptance
blurred and fuzzy.

I’ve seen the ones
who say they are sorry,
yet repeat the same wrongs constantly.

And those whose try to move ahead,
acting as if nothing went wrong,
but the breech of trust is still felt,
unspoken,
a ghost that haunts each future encounter.

For me I don’t think revenge,
neither do I wish to be a whipping post,
sometimes though it hurts to be apart
walking alone
is easier
than waiting to receive
the next knife in the throat.