Confetti

The sharp, piercing blade of your mouth

Shredded me to confetti

I was airborne. Torn.

Was it better to be scattered though?

Perhaps the pieces of me held together by comfortable glue

Were now going places.

Each tiny, fluttering scrap had eyes to see.

More vision than the old me.

And when this ache of being hacked up fades

All the tiny fragments will return to the fold

And I will be wiser, braver and bold.

(C) Slumpless

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