Glass

I had a dream I was surrounded by death
and all I inherited was a room full of delicate glass.

Have you ever slept at night in your fears
living by day wondering how you’ll lose it all?
A bull in a China shop.
A reckless slip of the fingers,
surrounded by the sound, the shatter.

Then before you know it, it’s over.

If I had to remember how I was,
I’d just show you a sign with no words
or a piggy bank with nothing to spare.
We spent each other’s hearts
grasping for every penny, for every thought,
but could never face what we’d already lost.

It was me, you see.
I know that now.
I know an ice cube can’t know warmth without melting.
I know that so many times I wore my skeleton on the outside.
I know logic really meant the worst scenario.

Your patience made you wait,

but I never showed up.
You’ll never understand why.
But even if you could
the words would never add up.

If I had to remember,
it meant something,
even when it hurt.
You left
even when you didn’t want to.
And for now
you’re the bandaid I can’t rip off;
the wound still bruising underneath,
black to blue to black.

And black to blue to glass.
I had a dream I gave you a room
full of delicate glass.
I was afraid I’d lose it all.