I held the pieces in my hand,
The shards were hot,
Scorching my tender skin,
Red streaks burned into my palm,
Striping my fingers,
Branding me.
Their glittering edges slicing the edges of my fingers.
The blood was warm.

I clutched the fragments to my bare chest,
Pale breasts spattered with oozing nicks,
Cooling blood trailing between the rounded masses,
Flowing subtly in dark red rivulets down my legs.

I sense a presence,
I whirl,
Terror etched in the tense lines of my naked body,
Now cold blood seeping down my chest, over my stomach,
Legs lined with the icy dark red ooze,
The sharp pieces still held closely to my bleeding flesh.

A scream.
High, wavering.
I fall,
Gasping as the razor sharp edges dig into me,
A breath released, shaking with agony.
More blood.

I hear an angelic tinkling,
Bloody shards shatter on the cold, hard ground.
Short fingers darting out to recapture them,
Crunched beneath your heartless boot.

So cold that I quiver,
Blazing tears leaking from my tightly shut eyes,
Leaving burning tracks behind,
As they splat on the ground.
Your shadow over me,
I shake, curling into a protective ball,
The clear, gleaming shards of my soul still clutched tightly against me.
Damned if you’ll take the last fragments from me.

 
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