Stream of Conciousness/ Poem IV

Thinking about what could be is the worst part.
Because my hopes, my dreams, I never succeed.
Looking in the mirror, I pick up the shards.
They are my tears, my tears tear through my hands.
My blood now soaks into the surrounding carpet,
I think it's going to stain.
My hands secrete this red wine profusely.

My love is on the ground.
This mirror shows me my tears,
But I don't see myself.
I can't see,
I can breath,
The crystal tears are in my eyes.

These tears, they glisten like the sun up in the sky,
But they are the mirror embedded in my hands,
And as they stream down my cheeks,
They cut, they burn, and my life is in their hands.

Why am I crying?
Why am I alive?
Why am I dying,
Should I be alive?

Am I worthy of life if I cry because of this pain?
Am I worthy of life if this pain I caused myself?

For I showed weakness,
Oh, I really shouldn't have cried.
Because these tears, broken shards,
They are now my eyes.