Confused.

I am caged in glass.
My thoughts on full display to see--I try to catch them, pull them back--But they flit away giggling, and almost malicious.

I forget that my mind is not glass but walls; that my eyes do not always reveal my heart, neither the good or the bad, and I never know: Did you really hear me?

I knock on your walls, not knowing they are only cardboard, not realizing they have fallen on your head. I see brick, and stones, and cold, cold iron, icy marble, torpid and wary. I cannot see your frantic scramble to set your pride to rights.

Do you feel any better?

...


I see a light bright and glorious that reminds me of a day in the way a memory of the sun points to that glowing orb. But my fingerprints on the mental glass are greasy and black; they remind me that I am separated--but not for long. I push it over--it shatters! Jagged shame cuts deep--but I must get out! Step by step of agony to the light.