I sat in my box.

My Safety.

My Shelter.

My Prison.

I sat and watched as people walked by, not a glance at me, alone, in my little glass home.

I sat and I watched them as they walked.

They talked.

They laughed.

They touched.

I sat in my clear house and shivered.

It was cold.

I touched the crystal walls and wondered.

Were they warm?

Would I be warm, if I walked among them?

I sighed.

It ached.

This hole in my chest.

The edges were flaked with scars and scabs.

They itch.

They bleed.

I turned to see the people on the other side.

They screamed.

They fought.

They cried.

I turned back to watch the other ones.

The Happy Ones.

I longed for them.

She sees me.

A young girl stared into my clear home.

My cage.

I felt hope warm me.

It melted the cold.

It healed the ache.

Would she help?

Save me?

Like me?

I felt a smile tug.

She broke our gaze.

I burned.

The warmth was stolen.

Sucked into the black hole in my torso.

A fire started in my chest, burning with rejection.

The healing wounds burst.

Blood poured from the hole.

The hole in my chest.

The Freezing made it's way upward.

Starting at unused legs.

Moving to bloodied body.

It numbed.

It cooled.

The bleeding slowed.

The fire burnt out.

I laid in my little glass home.

My Safety.

My Shelter.

My Guard.

I laid in my box.