I'm treading on
shoe soles of glass
one wrong move
I bust my ***.
they say I'm pretty
but what's that mean?
when pain is beauty,
you **** the queen.

my dear, your eyes are made of glass...
oh, no...it seems they have shattered again.

my love, you must understand that...
the most beautiful eyes
have to be formed with heat.

oh, darling,
it seems i have melted them again.


oh, no...i seem to have hurt you...



the fragments of your shattered eyes


are making you bleed again.

Inside the glass house
And those on the outside
Are the ones throwing the boulders
Chips of glass surround my feet
Leaving me nowhere to step
Unless I want to get cut
And I already have enough scars

my heart... it's made of glass
you told me it was my fault,
so it shattered.

i crawled around,
trying to pick up the
shattered pieces,
but it cut my legs,
it cut my arms.

it made me sick.
but that's ok...
right?

Clenched broken glass
cut deeper, which takes
a longer time to heal.

So let the jagged pieces loose.
Let it slip between your fingers.
Let it fall into its place.

Let it go.

The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.

Windows ***** or clean
Each tell a unique story
Depending which side you're looking from
Are you looking from the outside in
Or from the inside out
Every soul has two eyes
Two windows
Together they talk about a journey
A journey that started a long time ago
Like the glare of the sun on a glossy window
Some try to hide their transparency behind tinted glasses
I've been there
Prevent the world from seeing inside
Kindness mistaken as weakness
Silence as a lack of confidence
When in essence silence speaks louder than words themselves
What shall we do with all the cracked windows
Broken and smashed
Lying on the ground
Stripped bare of value
However an oasis of splintered pieces
Could configure a formidable mosaic of Love

stop throwing stones of judgement when we are all made of glass