By B.A. O'Connell
You’ll never really know me
I’m not a thing you can hold
— just a photograph between
finger and thumb you are staring
at until you’re numb
I'm locked in a tower of my own making
aware of my painful faking
dreaming of flying
and looking to jump
into my casket
waiting below
you're staring at me from the ground
— I know you want to
touch the realest parts of me
but I’m all reflection and glass
you only love me
cause your eyes meet your gaze.
I’ve been in love before
you’re not special in that kinda way,
but I am about to shatter
apart on the space beside your feet —
just cause I have to be seen,
now that I’ve seen you.
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