The Glass Vase

My own glistening eyes I see
In a thousand reflections
On the remnant pieces 
Of my favorite glass vase
May be, the cracks
Were always a part of it.
Inherent , incomprehensibly subtle or invisible
From my rose tinted fools paradise.
Blood flows through my cracked fingers
As I try to pick up the fragments
One by one , each  hurting me anew
Leaving yet another scar ..
With a broad sweep ,
I want to shove them away
The many scattered glass daggers
That my once beautiful vase became.
Ringing fresh in my ears
The laughter of crackling glass 
Bringing thoughts of happy past.
Distracted , I hurt myself again.
Leaving 'time' to dry the glistening drops
Of blood and tears on glass,
I look into your loving eyes to find
That strength to walk away.