Pieces

There's little pieces of me scattered here and there, little bits of me.
Pieces on the bed, pieces on the floor, pieces on the walls.
You hit me like a sharp knife, blind sided by the pain and a piece falls.
A piece in the bathroom, a piece in the yard.
Pieces of me are scattered every where.
I sweep them up and hide them away, throw some away, tuck pieces in little boxes hidden from the day light.
Each day a piece is cut from me. Small in portion, but as painful as the sea on a late fall morning.
Most pieces I save, for the chance that they might choose to connect again.
In hopes that one day your arms will mend my broken chest. In hopes that your eyes will light me once again and I may feel stings of joy rather than stings of the angry.
To hear your voice again would only be a dream.
To feel you again would be a peaceful serenity of grace.
I've lost my way from all these tiny pieces, shards of glass slivered through out my world.
Some forgotten some remembered but everyone felt. Every one a piece of me gone.
I am meek, I am shallow, you have turned me into something I vowed to need be.
This is agony.