I remember When I first realized Parts of me were broken. What does being broken mean anyway? The questions and doubts The things we could be, But what we are not. I used to look, at those broken pieces, scattered all over my mind. Broken - with fear, shame, and guilt The poor mind - I could see, Looking for a place to disappear. But then I reflect, and think a bit more. What would life be without these broken parts? Sometimes I dare, to visit the dark chambers of my own mind, where the infinite memories of lifetimes reside. The darkness, so deep The visions, so frightening A state of mind that is beyond understanding. Yet, look I must Straight into my own fears, And collect the broken pieces Of this ancient mind. To live, to become whole, one needs to know What it feels like to crash And break down. Then, Maybe, Yes, one day, A light will shine. The same broken pieces that bother my mind, might shine and smile one day, revealing a subtle meaning That I need not understand. There is no darkness, neither any light; Broken pieces? Nowhere to find. Just an empty space where no one remembers me, and I just drift quietly into my secret world of no-mind.
