Fifteen Hours

An original poem

Fifteen hours was all that was necessary

For my divine illusion

To be shattered into slivers.

Wafting in the wind,

Stolen by ignorance and greed

The sweet wine of contentment is the most intoxicating

I let myself believe

But now my longing and want

Only alludes me more

For my core wants to rip from the sheath

My heart pounds not only in my chest

But in my arm

My body is otherwise numb

Inside there is calm and collection

A translucent veil holding tears

Truth is the unknown in the algebraic equation of life

Your own truth is still a lie

A draft written minute by minutes

Never ready for publication

I stand before the room

My skin made of glass

Hidden.