He was fragile. But somehow not fragile like glass, fragile like a bomb that when he reached the end of his rope, his fuse ignited and he exploded.

But this bomb was made of glass, so that explosion shattered him and with every shard that went flying, someone was cut deeply with it.

And he hated that he was a glass bomb but as he stared at his remains in tears, he couldn't help but wish he had done something different, he had a chance to try again. Wish that he could make it up to those that deserved it.

And he never did get that chance but he was shattered. He had a spider-web crack all over him, because he was a glass bomb. And he had exploded, but he wouldn't be him if the pieces didn't reassemble just enough that he was himself again, he was still bartered, Broken and bruised, but he was himself. And that's all that mattered.