Br[ok]enMature

Broken arms. Broken legs. Broken and bloody. Broken spirits. Broken hearts. Broken but loving.

Everything breaks, tears in half, shatters before your eyes. Everything breaks. It takes shakes and quakes and sleeps and wakes to fix it, but things mend. Even if only long enough to mix it up before it breaks again. Look it up. You can quantify the broken. By days and distance, ways and resistance to heal. How though, do you put into numbers or even words what happens when it's your brain that breaks? How can you pinpoint just when it happened or how bad it is? It's such an overwhelming concept that something could be biting and biting, but to you it's delighting. It's not that you deny that there's a problem, you just don't see that there is one. Until one day it comes to you that you don't feel the way you used to. You don't heal the way you used to. You don't kneel or deal, conceal, reveal. You don't do anything the way you used to. How could it have taken you this long to think to yourself am I alright, how could it have taken this long to realise no, I'm not quite? How could it have taken me this long? So tell me, if I'm so strong, as you say I am, how could it have taken me this long?

For now it's too late, I can't be fixed. They put me in the hospital over and over again to try to fix me, but I can't be fixed. I'm broken beyond repair, why can't I just end up six feet under ground. If anything, that would be lifting me up because I'm already at the rock bottom. I lie, glass shards pinning my glassy corners to the ground. I know that everything breaks at some point, but why this, why now? Why did it have to be me who has broken and fallen to this pit that looks like an abyss, but clearly has a bottom because although few people have ever seen it, I lie there.

Broken arms. Broken legs. Broken and bloody. Broken spirits. Broken hearts. Broken but loving. Broken minds. Broken lives. Broken and laughing.

The End

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