Crash goes glass on ***** ground
Shatter goes the breaking sound
Too bad, too bad, too bad.

Don't rush behind, don't rush ahead
With one mistake your dreams are dead
Too bad, too bad, too bad.

Breathe in slow, coughing fast
Searching for the aftermath
Too bad, too bad, too bad.

Sprint 'cross lawns, jump the fence
It's not love, in my defense
Too bad, too bad, too bad.

Too bad things cannot be fixed.
Too bad that it's all a blip.
Too bad that you need the thrill.
Too bad. You're empty still.

I am tortured by you.
you and your lack of words
               your lack of emotion
With each step you take I fall further behind, and not just because
your stride is bigger than mine
but because you won't talk to me.

The frosted glass window cracks
because you built up the pressure inside
and it builds
and it builds
and maybe you don't even realize the explosion your actions would have
on me.
or lack thereof
because maybe to you, there is no such pressure rising
There is no shrapnel aimed at you

For all I know it's in my head
where cocoons break and butterflies emerge
And the glass keeps cracking
My disjointed mind.
that makes something out of nothing
day in and day out
with every small thing that you do
or don't.

when that frosted glass window to your mind shatters
and the truth comes out
and the pieces embed in my skin
never to come out
Then I'll know it's over.
Dig your frosted claws into me
Rip open my skin
Tear out my heart
It loves too much too easily anyway.

I yet again wasted my butterflies on someone who was
unwilling to give back.
a fate I'm doomed to repeat
Because the butterflies are never satisfied
no matter who they land on
and for all I know it's my fault for breeding those bugs
in the first place.

Walking on shoes of glass,
Will I find any hold, or will I find myself breaking down into pieces ?
The phantoms of a night's serenity rage to the nihilism within my questions, as painful wind brushes to the tip of my averted, eyes..
Breaking down into to the pieces of shattered glass, I cannot move,
Our dreams spilled and vanished when you let go of my hand,
Restoring the shattered pieces I can't leave you, I don't want to!
But even if I continue walking on these crystal heels, I'll fall once more, won't I? Yet I choose to step on this fragile, frail foot wear,
Though, the real question is, if you will be there to catch me again,
Careful steps, in order to maintain an elegant glance, to not break down again and shatter our hearts with the broken glass of misery,
Swaying back and forth, unsteady and unable to lower my guard,
I stare at the sight of the abyss next to the bridge we are crossing,
If the glass shatters and you are to catch me again we surely will fall,
But even so, verily we would fall down together,
And that is what I find very beautiful.

~ Umi

What is it about the water?
Like misshaped tiles the ripples scatter;
shifting at every swift motion and quake,
staring back at a man lost in a reflective gaze
Lost in a pool of his own thoughts;
He recognizes the drowning body
that sinks deeper as his mind descends

Should he linger behind inches of safety;
or should he let himself fall into ponderous
depths of transparent glass;
Eyes closed, he lets go and joins his enemy,
like a sail his body floats, effortlessly.

I've got a heart
And it has a beat
It beats my chest to pieces
As glass as it is

When I finally broke; I shattered.
Little broken shards, in my tiny glass closet.
Bloodied and broken.
Shaking with a pain and understanding I had never felt.
A brokenness I needed to know.
An understanding of the way it should be.
In opposition to the way it was.
My glass closet door could be left ajar.

She threw it away
A beautiful little bottle
It tossed between the waves
Crashed against the rocks
Shattered to pieces
Because she didn’t want it

Jagged edges
The smooth glass marred
It hurt those who stepped on it
And took pleasure in the hurting
Because it had been hurt once
When someone threw it away

A rose-cheeked little girl
Hands full of seashells
Sees a glint on the sand
Picks up the little piece
Gasps in awe at its beauty
Adds it to her jar of broken glass
And watches as a stray sunbeam
Shines through her jar
Creating a rainbow on the sand

where do i even begin? to point
into five outward points is an idea that
only translucent particles of nothing or everything
can enjoy with real, unwashed hands.
the glassy revery of daffodils

and powers of numbers stretch
to an aether, a void worth unmentioning, unforgetting,
reforgetting and rementioning.
i say goodnight, even if we're already dreaming,
and maybe the night might undo its amnesia.