By: Mike Lutz

A thousand million sparkling shards
Constellations of razor sharp stars
The luck that was now sours
Like milk left in the noon day sun
Drops of crimson life swim along the edges
Salty tears patter on to the cold counter top
The sad reflection echoed over and over
Hand shaking, the red ribbon snakes over finger
The mirror once held dances across the cold tile floor
I'm sorry.


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