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Broken Bottle

My mind, a bottle cracked with time,
Whatever’s poured, it slips through lines.
Words I seek dissolve like rain,
Leaving silence, not disdain.

They speak—I drift, detached, apart,
No care, no echo in my heart.
I’ve worn the mask of solitude,
Where silence feels like quiet truth.

But broken isn’t always bad—
The wind that slips through shards I had
Sings a song, a haunting grace,
That makes me feel I still have place.

The empty glass reflects the light,
Reveals the flaws, the fight, the fight.
In shattered form, I see much more—
The mercy, lies, what we ignore.

No one’s whole, no soul pristine,
We all just strive to stay unseen.
But sometimes, in the quiet fall,
I see the beauty in it all.


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