Splintered Calm

I threw the mug—ceramic cracked—

a sharp crack splitting the afternoon.

Shards clattered, a pale rain on wood,

my breath caught in the fracture’s echo.

Why did I do it? Anger, a blind flick.

Regret curdled quick like sour milk.

The empty cup now just jagged pieces,

a quiet wreck where calm used to sit.

I wanted to break the moment,

shatter the words that burned inside.

Instead, I’m left with brittle silence

and shards I’ll have to sweep away.