Caution

So, I bought the glass top table
You told me not to.

I stand in the doorway
Facing the other way

Hear glass breaking,
Feel the wind of the
Stampede rushing through.

Built a mountain out of all the chairs,
You’re mad and have nowhere to sit,
The floor is covered with broken glass,
My broken glass,

No matter what you placed upon it,
It was never your table.

I’ve worn holes in my shoes
Walking across the room,
Walk across the mess to get to you,

You light up like an orange hand at a crosswalk,
“Don’t do this to yourself,” you say,
but we have done it to me,
It is done.

The room looks more put together
If the bed is made,

It is best we don’t
Look under the bed.