The glass..

No one gets it. No one understands. I feel like I'm standing on broken glass, while feeling the fire begin to dim. Every step I take, the more I bleed. I walk, and I walk, until I have reached the cold, oiled ground of the old brown house; but then I stop and stare. I stare at the broken window, and all I think of is my spirit. how they just broke it. How does one do that? How does one promise you something, then break it? How do you break someone then expect them to fix it? Each piece of glass is a piece of me. Broken. That's okay though. It's just a glass, right? I have tried to pick up the pieces, but they won't mend. The glass and my spirit both are broken. My hopes and my dreams are gone. My joy, my confidence, my dignity was taken. No one, but myself has tried to repair the damage that has been done, yet it still isn't fixed. I stare at the window, with shards of glass in my feet, and all i think about is how the cold air seeps. Just like my spirit, it can't be fixed. It is dark, cold, and lonely... Yet the damage has set in..