Glass 

6/17/12

You are made of sharp things,

Things that break when they fall,

Things that cut a gash deep,

Things we have no names to call

They have nothing for you now,

They mean nothing to us anymore,

When blood falls down the side of my hand,

You will know and understand,

That a time will come when all we think we know,

Will shatter like glass, from a 7th floor window