These lines on my faceconvey much more than words can say

In every laugh, every tear it is written that life is more than some fluid interplay of randomness

I've long felt trapped by the ceiling, have grown accustomed to the cool indifference of its glass

like a child I've fogged it over with breath and etched a message for some savior to find

But that savior never came and the hands, they continued so persistently in their sweeping revolution that now no time remains to succumb to sameness

The realization of a dream appears when it is meant to, always written in beautifully bittersweet form. The glass so easily shatters.