
A glass house is where you live
In the remains of shattered rooms.
You stand naked and afraid
That the rest of the walls will break,
That you will no longer be,
Just an empty glass shell
Ready for one last drop.
You carry your pain alone
Thinking no one to help,
All while still screaming your lungs out.
Then you hear it,
The rush of water coming
To greet you.
A cold rush to your face
And you are submerged
But above, you see the sun,
Through the waves,
And the water becomes warm.
You wonder
Which is more beautiful,
The warm waters underneath
The yellow sun?
Or the coldness that still lingers
Beneath your toes
And its inviting grasp
Of a deep, deep slumber?


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