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Glass In My Bed

         There is a storefront window
         in my heart.
         Bright posters advertise
              compassion
              understanding
              sympathy.
         But within, desire leers through the glass
              and pounds on the pane.
         Now, there is glass in my bed.

         There is a plate-glass sliding door
         in my soul
         designed to keep my demons
              safe
         where I can watch them
              outside.
         But they charge on in anyway
         through the shattering shards.
         Now, there is glass in my bed.

         We drink the wine of friendship
         toast the promises of forever.
         But we clink the goblets too hard.

         You hold the mirror to my face.
         I claim not to recognize
         the image there.
         But my demons and desires
              stare back,
              demand their due.
         The mirror shatters.
         And now, there is glass in my bed.