Sometimes I feel like I live in a glass house with opaque walls.

From a distance, it’s just a blur of whatever this house contains,

But come closer and you’ll make out what’s happening inside.

My life is both hidden in plain view and vividly on display.

I both hate it and beg for the attention.

Inside these walls are eternal fires I cannot put out,

Clouding up the air with thick black smoke that fills my lungs.

I am suffocating in here, begging all the higher powers to send someone;

But those who knock on the walls only half look for a way in.

They’re not here to save me, but really just to watch me burn.

And can I blame them? After all, I’m the one who invited them to the show.


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