The glass is fogged
You can't see through
Only a silouette
of what may be
Steam clouds your vision
obstructing your view

Moriah steps up
Rubs away the condensation
Leaving smears of water
Streaked over my form
she asks if I'm okay
she saw enough of me
To understand something's wrong

I tell her
through the mist and steam
Trying to corner
what must not be seen
that I think I'm all right

You refuse to look
At my nakedness
only a hindered glance
At my fogged-over form
Not wanting to see
Not wanting to bare
what lays beyond

Cracks spray
Unchecked across the glass
I'm afraid to get too close
I might be seen
It might all but shatter

It is me
that lays beyond
I'm starting to be
A little easy to read

Depression
Is by far
Easy to see on my face
Like the water on the surface
of the glass-paned door
It's cracking
Getting ready to break
As is my cover
where happiness is fake