Splinters

A glass full of promise,

A crack near the base,

You drank it all,

And bled from the taste.

The shine was convincing,

The shape well designed,

But truth has a pressure,

That fractures that kind.

You raised it with laughter,

With both hands in trust,

Ignoring the splinter,

That hid in the dust.

Each sip was a story,

Each swallow a test,

You toasted the past,

That poisoned the rest.

Now silence is ringing,

Where sweetness once stayed,

The glass is still shining,

But look what it made.

Cathrine Hottran 2025