My little Butterflies.

Saturday, February 11, 2012

Menacing Ostensibly .

Honestly, it did hurt. 

You were broken to begin,
and mending and fixing did not work.
Perhaps it's because of the materials used.
Or perhaps its from a wrong angle?
Or maybe the wrong person?
Or just bad timing.
But it was too late.
You soon turned into something that you weren't.
From a fluffy teddy filled with warmness.
Somehow you started changing textile.
Unknowingly, you became some irregular atomic structure;
A brittle transparent solid; shattered glass.While taking form of your current state of brokenness,
Those hands mending got caught in the sharp edges.
It happened without warning whatsoever.
and now as it rains,
the blood washed off your refracting frames,
while the blood is gone,
the cuts still feel pain.
Maybe you weren't broken in the first place,
and it was futile repairing something that's not even broken.
Barbed wires they became.
In or out? Standing here, from this point of view,
I wonder who is the prisoner and warden.
Standing on the greener side of the field, looking in,
Somehow a prisoner more like.

Still does.

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