poetry?

The facade I built
with my own two hands
portion by portion
hour after hour
now collapses
with me beneath it
an unwilling hostage

tiny fragments of paper
photographs and glass
drift ever so gracefully
but always beyond my grasp

The past, the future
The Present
a mangled symphony
of tears, blood
and pearly white bones

The video clicks to a halt

Why didn't you say what you wanted to say?
Should I have
listened to them?
Should I have tried harder
to salvage what was left, from the fear?
What have I become
after this mess?
Don't you know when to stop?
Do I?

Moments pass
Nobody breathes
Time is enveloped by a heavy fog
Flicks of water settle on the screen
The figures no longer twirl, they are
caught on the web of deceit

Sound's momentary
But the feeling lingers