Shattered

I heard the crack,
the breaking,
residual silence.

These cuts are deep.
And the blood pours heavy
warm and pulsating
down my arm.

But now, after the stitches,
I still find the fragments
laying on the floor.
Slicing my hands as I pick them up.

The pain is endless,
deep and heavy
Or
shallow and sharp.

Every time I sweep 
I find more tiny slivers and shards
Lodged in my feet.

A neverending torment
reminding me 
that my world is now shattered.