Glass Rose

Everything that slips through,

everything that cracks in the palms of my hand,

it's utterly painful.

When it's completely possible,

when there is the opportunity to save,

it's terrifying.

To save others is beautiful yet haunting,

they never leave your mind, 

the same as those who died.

Each linger for their own selfish reasons,

but perhaps I'm the one who is selfish,

I just can't help but remember,

too egotistical to forget.

Maybe I'm a masochist,

because the pieces are leaving scars,

and they're hitting hard on my heart.