Shards

A broken mirror

Surrounded by shards

Droplets of blood

Lay on the ground

Seven years bad luck

Or so they say

To her it would mean

Just more of the same

Anger had bubbled

As she stared in the glass

Her true self on show

Until the glass smashed

Oh how she hated

Just what had been shown

The disgust she felt

Mental images left

By lovers of old

Others would say

She was beautiful

They did not see the scars

Not on show

As the blood ran

So did her tears

Soon she’d be free

From internal anguish

The mirror no longer

A vessel of torture

Now hundreds of shards

Reflecting the end.