A glass shatters in the slanting late afternoon sun,
I reach impatiently, hungrily,
slicing the tips of my fingers,
in my desperation to hold onto
the fading light.
Tightly bound by the heaviness of my emotions,
I struggle within my cocoon of obscurity,
groping for emergence,
between the shards of glistening meaning,
before their imminent disappearance into dusk.
Professions of a Paranoid Perfectionist 
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