Broken Things

He was so broken, like a shattered window

Refracting sunlight; into ugly contortions

Like a prism that defied Newtonian laws

And refused to acknowledge the rainbow

He was so broken, like a cracked tea pot

Trying to contain; trying to retain

The bubbling frothy blackened nectar

But alas, it too left through awkward spillage

He was so broken, like a phone past it’s prime

The numbers never beeped, the lights never flashed

The dial-tone never ceased it’s monotonous scream

To commune with the world was not an option…

He was so broken, like those really cheap headphones

That leaked music into the vacuum of his empty life

And dissolved it in the milieu of limitless agony

Shuddering echoes left in it’s convulsing wake

He was so broken, like those fucking awful printers

Which never did print what was asked of them

Storing vast repositories of ink within; potential words,

All lost; because putting them on paper required effort

He was so broken, and he thought he enjoyed it

But inside all the cracks, jagged edges and fragments

Lived a deep, brooding misery; growing in estranged silence

Making him uglier than his scars, warts and boils

He shook with anger, and shouted a big ‘’Fuck you!’’

The intended audience, the world, gave a shrug and moved on

He sat there, defeated and tired, on the brink of madness

Yet he wore a strange smile, not a grin, but not a smirk either

I wonder if that smile still lingers on his lips

Quietly supplying me with a selfish hope…