She wanders in silence
And ponders the truth,
Not knowing if in slumber.
It’s difficult to tell
Murderous lies
From murderous truths.
It’s difficult in the way
That there is NO WAY
To tell the fake from what’s true.
And in pondering this
Her heart is amiss, as
She stops and touches
The shard of her heart
“One down a million to go”
She says as she moves
Swiftly down the path.
Her heart is…
Just another
Thing that is broken,
Like a broken toy or
A broken vase…
What’s the point
In putting it back together
If it is destined to fall apart?
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