Tempered is the glass that cracks,   
From the slightest touch,   
Light as a feather, sharpened by the blade,   
Jagged and cruel,    
Slicing through a perfect stream,   
Tidal wave, if that's enough to wash away,   
The thought of the bough that snapped, and dipped.   
Hidden beneath the waterfall,      
I'm crawling towards the wading river.   
The estuary veils what I must not say.   
Metaphors that take the place of an illusion.     
Elusive, a dream I stand beside.   
Grinding my teeth, and breaking one in the same.     
I choke down the pieces that remain.   
I wait for the edges to scrape the insides of my throat.   
I scream with no sound.   
I taste the crimson cataract.     
My eyes go blurry.   
My vision ceases, but I blink twice.     
Once for the parable, second for the tear that escapes.   
The iris that reflects a story never told.   
The cornea, clouded by the minute.   
Minute, a piece of dust that cuts deeper than any knife.   
I would die before I let it pull me under.     
The last time I flutter my lashes, and utter this vibration.   
I hyperventilate, with you inside my lungs.     
I can't breathe.   
And for the first time, that's good enough for me.