My Glass Jar

I feel consfuse like a butterfly trap in a glass jar it sees its freedom is a mare illusion , that the glass makes.

I bash my fist at the air walls they start to bleed  I began to cry in fuy.

I rub away my tears from my eyes with my bloody hands and the salty tears and the sour blood unite.

I decend to my knees the edge rocks cut like a knive troug a flame, opening wounds that had just began to scar.

I seek for my shadow in the ground no wear to be found, even it has deserted me, even it has left me to perish alone.

I reach my hand to the emptines just holding to thtat glimps of hope, that my sould showed me.

Someone will take my cold, bloody hand and help me up to my feet.

Il wait it may take seconds it my take years.....I will wait ,wait,wait