Fine China

She thought that she was the cause for his dismay

That she broke him

Like a vase thrown and shattered to

many pieces.

But the vase was already cracked

Secret slivers and weathered veins

that were hidden on the inside

She simply threw the last stone

And in that false sense of power she

felt strong

And he felt weak

That a tiny stone could shatter his entire being

But he pieced back more damage than he knew

And the truth is that the tables had been

turned from the start

He'd just got used to the fragility, to

the thrill of the rebirth

So patiently, he waits on the edge of the ledge

Never truly gluing all his pieces to last

Wishing that someone may come

round again

And throw another pebble

So that he may be reborn

Because that is the only way

He can see colour through all his grey.