For I was Never Real

Trapped behind
A cold glass wall
I stand alone.

There is a door,
A strong wood door,
An inviting escape from my prison.

But the door,
The strong wood door,
Has no knob,
No hope of escape.

I press against the glass,
The cold, cold glass,
And see outside.

No more torturous thing
Is there,
When you can see freedom, so close,
Yet are so distant from the outside.

To keep from going crazy,
I distance myself from the wall and the door,
But my efforts are futile,
For I was never real. 

Shadowstalker