The Glass

Quietly I take in my hand the broken piece of glass, a remnant of what was a picture frame. Shattered like the walls that surround me. Grasping the glass I feel it dig into my fingers and break the skin effortlessly, cutting it like gel. I feel in that pain all the pain and hurt that's washed over me and become me, like a shadow that's engulfed and overpowered me it's been lurking. People are not afraid of the darkness, but they are afraid of what comes out of the darkness. Of what they cannot see but they can, indeed, feel. It is then that they expose the danger, pain, frustration. This one thing can be controlled. I can control my pain and I can control my body better than this unseen force attacking my inner being. So towards my heart this glass goes, ready to pierce the skin and pierce my soul so that I can feel what I need myself to feel. Then I feel it.