She was painfully aware,
Things were not as they should be.
She simply forgot to care,
As she tried to ignore the pain.
It was all irrelevant.
The real solution did not lie in reach.
There was no point in life,
Because life was an endless parade of work and violence.
She was truly past the point of caring.
As she tried to ignore the pain.
The more tragic even was the pieces,
Broken glass lay spread on the floor,
There was no blood among them.
It had been thrown, not used to cut.
And yet she felt a liquid from the wound.
It was her imagination of course.
She had to make everything seem larger then it was.
The pointlessness of life hit her again,
As she realized the real usefulness of shattered glass.
They could serve a purpose,
Allow her to make her mistake.
Before he had a chance to react,
There was blood amoung the glass.