My Childhood Was In Pieces In My Hands
As I sit on the floor of my once filled apartment holding the remnants of time gone by, I find it difficult to hold back the tears. I didn’t know what was worse, the fact that someone had violated me by taking away my sense of security or the fact that instead of taking my grandfather’s clock, they chose to smash it.
My childhood was in pieces in my hands. The faint echo of chimes seemed to linger in my mind. Time had literally stopped for me and all I could think of is where is the wood glue.
Writing In The Deep 