Window Pain

I'm going to score lines with a knife
In this window pane;
They'll run and they'll dribble
Like drops of rain.

When the cold flushes
Against the glass,
They'll turn into cracks,
Jagged and crass.

I'm going to prise the glass apart
With my broken nails;
There are no bars on this window,
No curtains, no rails.

And once the cracks in the pane
Are deep enough
To resemble a spider's web of ruin
In the glass,
I will bleed ink into them,
And the blackness will spread.

One by one, the cracks will fill,
Like blood filling veins
Before the kill.

The ink will spread outwards,
An ebony mirage
In my cracked window pane.

And in the cracks I will form words
And lines that are beautiful
In their inky ugliness.

The end product will destroy my window's purpose,
For no longer can it be used
To see through,
But rather it will filter your perceptions,
So that through the inked rage
And words so divine,
You will see what I see;
You will see what is mine.