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.