It Used To Be a Chair

In the corner
A pile of splintered wood
It used to be a chair
Just moments ago
A simple chair
But a good chair
Now a pile of splintered wood

It didn’t deserve this fate
It never saw it coming
My foot making the first break
My hands grabbing it
Picking it up
Slamming it to the ground
Again and again
Then my foot again
Relentlessly snapping its remaining pieces
Until nothing was left
Except a pile of splintered wood

I destroyed it
The way you destroyed my heart
But unlike the chair
My heart can be repaired
Because my heart is not made of wood


Copyright © 2015 Mr. Flying Pig

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