when the image of someone you love
their honest heart and childish soul
falls down—crumbles to bits
the next move is so hard to call
some images were never real, and
are worth reconstructing—
with more accuracy than ever before
others are just what they always were—
forever broken, and
simply revealed through small cracks over time
waste no time on the cracked eggs
go get sunny side up elsewhere, or
hell, get scrambled.
but never return to what hurt you.