made of glass

in part,
my heart
is made of glass;
alas,
i ache
to be opaque

a rose
that grows
of purest red,
instead
of all
that makes it fall

disguise
and lies
have been my way,
today
this debt
this dark regret

these words
all birds
that swiftly pass:
this empty life
that’s made
of glass

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

3 thoughts on “made of glass”

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