Layers

They call something transparent
when the light shines through it.
Some people are like that.
But you were more like a window on a cloudy day
helplessly trying to block the view.
Asking the rain to help you
with another layer of uselessness.
I could pour more whisky
in front of my spectacles, tinted
with the color of betrayal.
I could add more ice into my glass,
and still see you through it.
And still see through you
all the smells and voices you’re trying to hide.
But like a window, too,
you’ll break
as soon as the rock hits you.
You weren’t made to endure.

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