My pane of glass allows me to see the farce that is my life.
Remember that song lyric “I’ve been to paradise, but I’ve never been to me”?, well, I’ve never been to paradise and I’ve never been me.

Me, a person is too much to try and describe, let alone the life I’ve lived and hid.

My skin is a skein wrapped tightly over my remains
My brain what of it works is a profane stain, it cheats at life and keeps me looking through that pane at my pain.

My pain makes me stronger, my pain is my armour, my pain is a ball and chain choking me down whilst I try to retain order.

I’m never mundane and always entertain myself with the next charade.I’ve portrayed and played many parts, paid my dues and rued the pain that started in my heart.

Happiness folds in on itself
like a piece of paper.

Can you be jealous of a time?
I can. I am.
Like salt in a wound I sting at being absent at my own life
Pain screams at me and I smile back