Broken Glass

So this is how it ends.
I am sitting on my Couch.
The windows open, the wind swirls in.
A coffee mug in my hand as cold as bitter.

Your words are like broken pieces of glass on floor.
I walk on those glasses to seek the pleasure of pain.
I see myself surrounded with blood of spoken lies.

I wonder how captivated me with your marvellous golden smile.
Oh lord! Oh lord, that smile!
Your smile is like a loaded gun near my head.
I wonder “am I already dead”.

Now, I see birds with broken wings.
And people with broken souls.

The streets remind me of our dead conversation.
Oh! How couldn’t I recognise you already pulled the Trigger.

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