Glass Swan

I lay upon my messed up bed
The sheets in disaster beneath my limp head
As I gaze upon a glass figurine
The swan upon a timber ledge

My eyes become moist
As my mentality drifts away
The tears begin to overflow
Streaking the skin the length of my cheeks
Stinging my soft pouted lips

My blurred eyes starring endlessly at the swan
The swan significant of myself
An indication for what I have become

Made of a see through glass
People glance immediately through
Precisely as they appear to do to me

So diminutive and small
Just as I feel in the midst of any other existing soul
Insignificant to all who know me
Devoid of a purpose or use whatsoever

So fragile and delicate
Too effortless to destroy
All afraid to handle for fear that it occur
Incapable to fend for itself
No defence from humanity

All the qualities of the lesser swan
An indication of my emotional condition
The mere difference only that
The reality is a more excruciating story

The pain a sentiment the swan will never endure
The misery a torture the swan will never suffer

The swans head low
As is mine
Ashamed by myself
Humiliated by the swan
Although the swan still contrasts to me
In such an immense way

I arise from my tear tarnished bed
Mascara stains run over my face
As I walk to the ledge ahead
Picking up the swan with tenderness and care
As I take it up in to my hand
Caressing it as softly as I dare

I taste a salty tear from upon my lip
Dropping the swan
As people have dropped me
Stepping upon the damaged pieces
As people have walked on top of me

I slump to the ground
Using my hands to break the countless pieces
In front of me that lay
My hands becoming cut
As the glass penetrates my skin
Silent drops of crimson falling upon the glass

As I gradually reduce the glass to small granules
I gather up the pieces
I can no longer distinguish as a swan

Satisfied the swan now, represents me
I position it back upon the ledge
With a smile of what I have achieved
I wipe away the mascara
Knowing the swan now shares how I feel.