too much
miles of tundra condensed
into a single sheet of glass.
We stand back to back
separated by inches of miles.
The glass has broken before,
shattered by circumstances
that you control.
The shards always rain down on me.
Cutting and tearing,
destroying everything that I've built.
I'm the one who gets hurt
and you never turn
to help pick up the pieces.
It's tragic--
replacing the glass with brick.
Even if you finally turn around,
you won't be able to reach me.
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