Woebegone

I think when Jake hit me, he cracked my skin. Every movement I make causes the crack to spread further and hit deeper. The cracks creep like a spider over my body, creating a web of breaks and fractures. I wonder how long it will take until I shatter, turn to dust on the ground. I remember breaking a window when I was six, mamma was so angry at me but she fixed it, she put tape over the cracks until someone came in to replace the window. I wonder if there is anyone who can do the same to people, if there are people that can replace someone’s broken soul. But when I look through the phone book I find no such thing. I climb into bed and I hear another crack slip up my chest, stopping just below my heart. I wonder if anything can fix someone as broken as myself, or if I’m simply doomed to become nothing.