The old monster is out again;
And, it left glass shards on the floor.
I stared at me in those pieces.
Hands reached to grab a small fragment.
Piling them in a plastic bag,
Blood replacing glass on the floor.
Long ago, I winced... the pain.
Now, it feels like Monday morning;
Something that usually happens.
Seconds passed. Glass gone and blood-free,
A bloodied rag and plastic bag,
Covering the scene of the crime.
It wasn't your role, fixer.
They made you believe it was.
You're wiser now. See the bullshit.