The sky, usually on fire,
Was a dull blue at sunset today-
The dull blue which outlined the imposing
skyscrapers;
The dull blue of the throbbing ache
To the left of your ribcage,
In your chest cavity-
Intangible, figurative,
But as real as a paper cut.
In a second something shattered
On the inside
Like a coloured glass pane,
Coloured with certain memories,
Which breaks into many pieces.
It never hurts when the glass shatters.
It hurts when the pieces hit the floor,
Shatter some more,
Like reality and heartache,
And the crescent moonlight falling
On a dazzling city night.