it glows silently, dully
with the lost sheen of a thousand shooting stars

the covers, thick and stiff with disuse
will open slowly, with the soft, despairing sighs
of all the broken people

brake
breaking
broken

the sound will come,
if your ears are keen enough to hear it,
the low, sharp click
of every stopped and broken clock,
silenced mercilessly in frustration
at the thought of losing another year

the pages bleed tears
the collective product
of the world’s broken hearts

the words, which cover each page in
chunky blocks of colored script
have been applied with the waxy remains
of Kindergarten crayons

but - quick!
close it tight,
close it shut,
for you will inevitably see a piece of yourself

in the encyclopedia of broken things