The View From Glass Stairs

In the absence of vision.

With the weight of becoming unseen.

A train’s chatter,

Along the lines of destructive intrigue.

One, taken;

Three, empty;

All around, full.

It truly takes a stretch of thought.

Upon the artwork, the photography too.

Space taken by those I thought I knew.

Yet… what does one really know?

Stuck in intrinsic invasion,

Stuck in everything that’s not.

Belief in nothing.

Frosted edges of razor blades.

Sickle, stabbing, absolutely frozen.

Miles thick, impenetrable.

The Arctic Shelf; an orphan of youth.

The girl with the white hair.

Always living in utmost proof.

I sat, in the room of longing;

Peering into oil on canvas, sights unseen.

Worlds of vision,

And worlds of creative dreams.

Hung in the cold, seen by those without capability.

My own visage, catastrophic.

Amid the benevolent voices;

Being unseen, the lifestyle of it.

Being forgotten; forgetting myself.

That youth, the simplistic hilarity.

Invisible where people come to view.

The Gallery of None-Description.

An altar in the religion of Narcissism.

And still… their laughter haunts.


10 thoughts on “The View From Glass Stairs

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