Take your messages,

and paint them on my palms.

Watch as I rub their blue ink

all over my face

letting the words sink slowly

into my veins,

wait as they intoxicate my brain.

Watch as I sob,

the ink now dribbling down my neck.

See how the ink bleeds onto my shirt

watch as I search the floor

desperately for

something to throw,

something to shatter against the wall.

Watch as I laugh

and listen as the glass shatters,

a beautiful cascade

of brokenness.

Watch as I slide down against the wall,

and as I cradle my legs close to my chest.

Listen as I ask myself

over and over again

Why me?

Watch as I unfold my limbs,

and listen to the floorboards

creak as I stand.

Were you watching?

Were you listening?

Of course, you really weren't.

You want to believe that you were

but you only sent me messages

and I never allowed you

to see my response.

If only you had said it to my face,

maybe then you could have seen

how I took your words

and crushed them between my fingers,

because they were only made

of glass.