Behind the dew-covered lucid wall
With a stony stare in its glassy eyes,
Refusing to look at anyone at all
Is the silhouette I despise.
It only peers at me; it penetrates my soul,
Twisting it into grotesque distortions.
I scream in agony at the malice of its hold,
Yet cherish the masochistic bliss in a portion
Of my wretched conscience.
Someday I hope to defeat the impermeability
Of this translucent membrane,
If only for the sake of my own sanity
And for the sake of the hearts in which
Its terror still reigns.
The I must go.
But, must it?