Frosted Glass

I'm lying on the floor
In the middle of a room
My back to the world
My dress is faded and torn

The people look on
And hold out their hands
But I don't need their help now
I'll pick myself up again

Some of them don't know
Most can't even see
My faded green eyes
In a face much abused by tears

As they try to give advice
For the wrong kinds of troubles
I pick up my thoughts
And build myself a wall

I let out all those words
I couldn't say before
Place it all between me and them
With a mortar of their sound

I sit up and look around
Through this barrier of mine
It's like looking through frosted glass
Their forms like painted watercolour

And until I can stand up and leave
This little room of thoughts
I'll lay down and watch them
Through my wall of frosted glass.