i often wonder 

what you'd think of me

if you ever found out

what i used that broken piece of your mirror for.

at first, it lay by my pillow,

wet with the tears i shed for you.

but i don't remember when things changed,

when the hurt in my head became unbearable,

when i needed my body to hurt more than my mind,

when the wet mirror piece turned red,

and the screams in my head went silent.

now the mirror piece stays buried by your picture,

i haven't touched it in a year.