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breathing sickness unto glass

drawing interpretations while intact

but windows shatter,

as circles last

white light shining through a prism

becoming nothing or chaos with

«what a smile», is what they really should say

such dumb blankness full of meaning

staring back, unflinching, smiling

sitting still, staring at the same painting

the feelings we have are ours alone,

and in the end they shouldn’t be touched.

«what a smile», is what they really should say

so be cautious of things we frame in the dead of the night

an attempt to breach the disconnect in all the wrong ways,

instead we must create,

and take the place of god