poetries

Don’t Touch The Glass

I stare.

Nothing stares back.

They just swim.

And swim.

I wave. Nothing.

I tap on the glass.

Nothing.

The glare.

The waves.

The piercing lights that feel dark.

Nauseating.

I press my red, tear- soaked face against the cold glass.

See me. Please. See ME suffering.

I scream…..My breathe gushes back into my face.

I know, I’ll shame you into noticing.

I’ll yell! I’ll yell to change the flow.

Soundwaves.

HEYYYYY!!!! YOUUUU!!!!

The death of silence.

I sit. The cold floor feels like 100 jabs of icicles.

Or is that my heart? Melting into the floor.

Sliding somewhere. To the glass. Under.

I see red.

Swirling red.. up, up, up.

I feel nothing.

Someones tapping……

I hear it.

I just can’t feel it.

Is that a scream? I can’t hear it, I feel its vibration. Yet…….. Nothing.

Why can’t I care?

I wish I could care.

Instead, I swim, I swim.

I swim. I swim. Going nowhere.

It seems ok. So I swim.


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