Blurred

This window is made of marbled glass,

the thickness variable and obfuscating;

a ubiquitous noise scratches

the insides of my head with a muffled buzz,

a low scream stretched into static. 

Through this glassy curtain,

it is impossible to tell if you are grinning

or crying, while background static

distorts sarcasm into disinterest. 

It is difficult to retain a cohesive understanding

of the creature on the other end of

these obstructions. 

If you would raise your voice above the static,

or press your face close enough to the glass so that I could

once more distinguish your features,

I would be relieved --

but I won't hold my breath.