Clarify my boundaries in shapes of barbed wires

I speak often nothing of you
When the greyhound bus collides
All the angry people rose in deny
Such is the loveless beakoning of our demise

I speak often everything to you
And yet my soul shifts to the mirrors
I touch, yet never get passed the reflections
Of that bus and all those who reside
"He's mine" I spat to thin vacuum of my listening
But the bus was all such a ruse, for the ambulance to drive by

Petrified of the boundary we shaped
In the forms of barbed wires