Tables are turning and wisper speaks
Nothing more than a vestige of loss,
empty space and acclivous prestige.
Seems like times go on.
Like something happened while I slept.
Like pieces of me crumble together
Unaware of that they were smashed,
Like that pain never was.
And I'm pretty sure
that sharp pieces of me will decorate the floor again
and cut up your barefoot feet
Just 'cause that's what sharp pieces do.
It's not because of words were unspoken.
That's just what sharp pieces of me do.