The Glass Ceiling

This ceiling of glass
Shimmers torturously in the moonlight,
Teases all the blood from this deep, scarlet heart,
Reducing me to some tears and a late-night TV fetish.

This ceiling is said to be Hope:
Something I never had much faith in.

This ceiling is composed
Of Her black hair and round eyes,
Along with shards of indifference,
And daggers of platonic diction,
Which stab into my soul and make it sore.

Behind this troublesome ceiling
Lie your body, heart and bones,
The side of you that thinks I'm worth something,
My complete trust and eternal bliss,
My heart that was never returned to me,
And imaginary whispers of impossible words:
"This hell was never meant to be permanent."
"I need you back."

This ceiling of glass is what keeps these dogs at bay,
Chained to prevent the shattering of this fragile tension.

I wish the pressure pushing against this ceiling
Made of words left unspoken, harsh verbs and stagnant nouns
That froze in December's icy roads
Could shatter it gloriously into a thousand peices
Liberating us from this existence.