My Glassy Shelter (Dirty White)

Is it so useless to talk With these still shades? Sometimes it seems that I spy my moves Through the vent of a glass stone. ...But what am I observing? The sandpit I'm digging Doesn't seem deep enough, 'cause the cries of the wounded wave are covering my strains. But I long for this amorphous embrace To reach close connections with my Ego: This is the spiral... Is it so useless to talk with these still shades?