The broken don’t appear to be broken.
They’re a race silently whiling away their lives, un-breaking the broken things around them.
Broken things are beautiful, broken people aren’t.
If ever you’re allowed to look deep enough, you’ll see your reflection.
How broken is it going to be?
How broken do you have to be in order to recognize one of your own kind?
The broken don’t appear to be broken.
They’re a race, silently wishing to be unbroken.
If ever you’re allowed to look deep enough, you’ll be blinded
By all the pieces, where nothing matches another.
Where the matter doesn’t match the mould.
How willing are you to shape nothingness into nothingness?
The broken don’t appear to be broken.
They break the unbroken.
They’re a race silently breaking those around them, without even realizing it.
How willing are you to break for them?
For broken pieces un-break a whole.
Broken lovers un-break a heart.
Broken wings un-break a flight.
And broken silences un-break the night.
soapsandsongs 