I dream in color, An infinite menagerie of tapestry In which things hold no real form, Yet always have solidity. I touch nothing while there, Keep no real interest in the happening Yet all the same I struggle to grasp all that is shared in these trappings. I fear rejection, And benefit from the fall From grace, I tumble down the stairs In avoidance of your call. I look out the window Of shattered and jagged remnants Where glass and metal had merged, Willing to pay penance. I am alone, Among many who soak in sorrow, Feeling not the slightest bit upset, But in fact, rather hollow.