Thoughts
I dropped my backpack as I walked through the door.
I let the wounds on my mind, bleed out on the floor.
There’s a drawer, I turn to I open it fast.
That is where I keep my broken mirror and shards of glass.
I assemble them there, and I stare at my reflection.
I ponder my appearance and my life direction.
Who am I? Where do I find my identity?
I fall in love with the pianist before he plays the first key.
