Well you know I am crystal clear-
But the glass that I am is broken.
Shattered on the floor- what a mess.
And sad to say but,
You don't resemble a broom or brush.
You alone can't pick me up.
My words, my thoughts, my dreams-
You can't change or re-build them.
You cannot fix me, cure me, be me.
I've been burned so many times,
I tend to avoid the flame.

Find me in the room,
melting into the shaddows.
Though I fear the dark,
it tends to be where I reside.
So you can never fully reach me-

I can't help but shudder at the feeling,
of someones hands on my skin.
When you are used to being alone,
you tend to forget what intamacy feels like.

A friend once told me they hated,
sleeping alone.
But I laughed inside my head,
because I thought it was a joke.
How hilarious.