Slowly the shapes contort..the colors, sift, down the panels that once stood. broken shards of glass glint in the glaring sun; they present a harsh contrast to the cool, soft grass that my body forms to. bits of a broken dream stream down my face in waves of weeping...but glimpses of a time unspoken fly free and with meaning. how is it, that the little shards dig deeper and pain explodes across the tilted concept of reality. vision slips and hands loose hold. hugs become rare and touching is forbidden. smiles are fake and true laughter is impossible. glass makes the mask, so they have some of what you present but mainly what they want to see. a single, easily molded chunk of colorless clay that is as dispensable as garbage. we struggle against the glass mask, gasping for air but greeting judgement, begging for a second chance but being rebuked, facing reality of the world and finding nothing. bits of a broken dream stream down my face; all aspirations, worth, and love have been false. my body writhes against the shards, longing for freedom from pain inflicted from false hopes of what was. is. will be. all movement stops. the glaring sun has set, and the soft grass becomes cold with dew. my body writhes one last time. with nothing but the infinite night sky, my body lets go....the glimpes of a time unspoken become reality, and my heart soars and laughter fills my lungs. there is no glass, piercing my vulnerable flesh, there is no judgement, and there is forgiveness and worth and something. for me.