A glass shard

Last night

I broke a small glass

Today I find

A glass shard in my pocket

A small glass shard

In my pocket

Waiting for my misery

To come and steal the shard

I am the most depressed

From time to time

I wish my despressions

Would just utterly decline

There are many beautiful things

That lie in my pocket

But that glass shard

Is still lying at the top of it

Waiting to be used

That glass shard in my pocket

Lies still and calm

Like an open socket

And so, here I lay in my hammock

With the small shard swinging back and forth

In my pocket

How come a little thing

Could be so enamored with poetics

And my tempers genetics.

Of a beautiful deadly little thing

Waiting.