My mind has been gone, for many, many moons.

So I wander on, my hand no longer able to grasp even a spoon.

And I wonder, why is my mind so fragile,

mayhaps because it was made from glass.

Though sometimes it reminds me of a gargoile,

or maybe a bead of dew upon the grass.

But alas, I know the answer to this lingering ask.

To you I say, my mind is like shattered glass.