Glass Hands

glass.
hands
produce
shimmers
and shades,
figures are made,
behind
glass.

glass
reflects the
time
we spent
dancing around
cinema car parks,
we held hands,
you came over,
over to me,
and you led me,
away into the
distance,
into a future,
I didn’t agree. I’m
stuck,
in a place,
where glass
shows me
your face,
pressed against the door,
will you come back?
I don’t know
anymore,
behind
glass.
There are
zoomed in,
zoomed out,
days,
hours,
I spent with you,
crushed,
and rushed,
into a ball
of
paper
that you screwed,
behind glass.
you can’t tell me that this meant nothing,
No, you can’t tell me that this was nothing,
You, can’t convince me it was all in my head,
You, must be joking if you think I’d have fled,
You, can’t tell me that this meant nothing,
No, you can’t tell me that this is nothing,
I don’t believe you.
but…
I
know
its
what you want.
I’m a push over,
you got what you got.

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