Being

Trapped, or not,
Behind glass, behind reality,
Still as stone, frozen like fine art
against a darkened backdrop,
Skeletal, corpse-like,
alive.

Surrounded, or not,
Darkness consuming, coldness embalming,
I become a jigsaw of skin
and bone, my thorax, my throat,
constrained, clogged by darkness, by glass,
again.

Like stone I crumble,
Like glass I am smashed,
My body is seized up but
broken, in pieces,
Stuck in time, I stand
Alone.