Where I stand, I know
I am the only thing
between you and
this abyss, which calls
to you in the voice of
oblivion and the sleep you can never
seem to catch and hold. I
am strong enough for you,
it seems,
and yet I know
I am only
made of glass. Touch me, I
am so fragile. Somehow
this delicate balance is allowing me
to appear stronger than I
truly am. Only I
feel how I shake
while I stand, terrified.
I cannot forget how
precarious this is, given
my tendency
to shatter.