Stained Glass Window 12/02/2000

I live on the other side of the window
Looking in on bliss. "their" bliss.
I scream as loud as I can.
No one hears me.
If I am heard,
My words are muffled and misunderstood.
My breath remains a stain on the glass,
My fingerprints leave a tarnished blur.
A reminder of a wasted effort.
Why try again?
The glass is only sure to be stained again soon enough.
Helpless and frustrated I stare.
I am as transparent as the glass,
And as despised as the stains painted upon it.