In a parade of glass ornaments,
I often find that I am mostly likely to survive,
While on my off days,
I'm likely to break and die.
Transparency doesn't aid anyone in diagnosing
Every broken heart, every broken soul,
And more often than not,
We miss the biggest and deadliest schisms.
Strung about delicately on the strings
That bind and just the same, liberate,
We believe ourselves angelic. Believe ourselves invincible.
But once we slip, we realize just how fragile we are.
Many of us are already mid fall,
Twirling gaily downward, ignorant to the stop below,
Too foolish to think to catch something,
Thinking someone else will.
Hanging from my string, I can see them shatter,
See them smash and break and bleed,
And I hold on for dear life,
After all, I too have a part in this parade.