Silent observers watch, as I do,
when you lift the light, as bright as your own sun
and stare into its glowing filament, casting last shadows
and quiet lights upon the wall beside you.
Silent observers watch, as I do,
when you lift the blinds and stare out at the sun,
and whisper to yourself that you always liked the moon better.
Silent observers watch, as I do,
as you bend over your papers, desperate to finish,
but too ashamed to ask for help, too ashamed to be called stupid.
Silent observers watch, as I do,
as you lay upon your bed, dazed,
unsure where to start and where to end.
Silent observers watch, as I do,
as you whisper to yourself about stars and strands of filament.
Silent observers watch, as I do,
as you detach yourself with a quiet moan of agony, forcing yourself
to look back upon your past dealings,
and accept responsibility.
And silent observers watch, as I do,
as you lower your hands to a keyboard,
a plastic weapon in your hands to accuse yourself
of watching yourself without saying a word
and finally melding yourself together.