Inside my ribs it aches without you.
Or it would, if I hadn't encased my heart with glass
So that my body could carry on:
Perfectly isolating and containing the problem,
So that I would continue smoothly,
Like a glass lake on a still day.
Now I battle within, asking myself,
Is this the end of the poem?
Do I carry on walking away?
Why would anyone open the gates,
Knowing poison would flow through the streets?
But is living under siege, living at all?
If you cut off supplies, the people will die,
My body needs oxygen to live.
But facts remain facts,
You are still far from me,
Even, if I shatter that glass.
25/4/10
