Buried
ShatteredI pick up the pieces
Of my life
And move on.
Wondering
What to do
With what I have.
Leftovers.
Reaching
Into my pocket,
I feel the stab of pain
As the glass
Slices my finger.
Grabbing a cloth,
I wrap my hand
As I remove the jeans
Once worn comfortably.
I buried my jeans,
Not wanting them to be discarded
As trash.
No one came to the memorial
But me.
5-10-09
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