Glass

Ever since the day I was born I started to build myself a palace.

My palace, it's made of glass dreams. Dreams of escape. beauty. change.

It glitters in the sunlight.

Change gleaming. Escape glistening.

It's everything, perfectly shining.

But everytime you tell me that I can't, my palace breaks a little.

But every sunrise it rebuilds.

Dents and scratches can't destroy a palace.

Only mar.

My biggest fear is that someday

my palace will come

crashing

down.

And I'll be surrounded by pieces of colored glass.

And my heart will be cut open, bleeding, aching, crying.

But it won't die.

What if a piece gets into my heart

and lodges itself perfectly so that I will

forever have to remember while it continues to slice?

It'll throb so painfully that I don't think I can bear it,

but it'll keep bleeding.

Crushed palaces can't destroy a heart.

Only maim.

What can I possibly do with broken glass?

I can

cut my wrists

and create little white lines

of momentary release

But I can't rebuild my palace. Not from broken dreams.

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