Breaking Of The Shards

The Used - Give Me Love

I stand in front of the mirror.

Naked. 

Broken.

   I study myself through the many broken shards that still hang on the frame. I could have easily gotten a new mirror. However,  this one feels like me. I punched it once. Just because. Like, such is life, right? Life punches too; for no reason. Then here I am, broken as well. I know I am missing so much of myself. So, I study myself every morning in hopes I can find all the missing pieces. I fail. Always.
   I look at my naked body. I've memorized every ridge and dent. The scars. They crisscross. Some are long and some are violent. Some, mountains;  some valleys. I remember the crimson rivers that ran once. I remember the stories each river took with them. 
   I close my eyes. The scars glow. They glow like armor. They are my tough skin against the disgusting outside world. The world with poison filled words and stares that could skin a person alive. My scars glow like if I am a crosshatch sketch. Then I open my eyes again.
   I look and I study, remembering every single one. In the shadows of my room, the scars are pale white against my tan skin. They cover my body like a full body tattoo. My neck and face are the only places safe from that torment. They are bittersweet. For the memories they hold are filled with pain and sadness. Anger and hatred. Loneliness and loss. The way they made me feel, the way the cold blade felt against my skin -piercing through flesh... the sound of flesh tearing, that felt like a hug from an enemy.
   I do this every morning to remind myself that there will always be healing. But just as there will always be healing, there will also always be pain. Pain has been a constant in my life. So I've become numb to it. No pain, no gain, I think it's what they say. I don't know. I try not to talk to people unless I really have to. 
   I take a deep breath, close my eyes, then let it out. I open my eyes. I put my clothes on now. I'm ready for the world. But the world is not ready for me. It judges me. That's ok. I'm ok with that. Mainly because I don't want any part of it. 
   I check my watch. It's almost 8 a.m. it is still way too early for The Neon Rose. I sigh. I can flatten pennies at the train tracks. Well, the train flattens the pennies. I just watch with excitement. Then I think of the ghosts that travel in the train; their faces pressed against the windows. That's a little depressing. They always want help. Sometimes I think that they are souls that lost their bodies. They don't know where to go and don't want to wander lost, so they go to a place where all lost souls go. 
   I sigh again. The Black Suits will be coming shortly. They'll show me charts and line graphs. They'll want to know what I think. They sit all around my kitchen table like knights. They sit with their shiny, pressed black suits. One always has a briefcase with "important " paperwork. The rest take turns spewing numbers and sales babble. I mean, I care but it's always excruciating to sit and listen to all this. They can just email me all the paperwork. I rather sit and read it myself than have all of them come over like the FBI. I suppose I can place thumbtacks on their seats this time. Have a little fun....
   Tonight though, for sure, The Neon Rose it is. No questions asked. I'll need it after the meeting with The Black Suits of My Round Table. A sigh and I roll my eyes. The Neon Rose.