Who are you? Do I even know you?
It seems the realm of friendship is a gray area.
To some it is community, to some it is a place to show compassion,
To some a debate table, to some it is something to control.
It is two people in in masks made of a hundred pieces of opaque glass,
and with each truth revealed, a piece of the glass is pulled away,
only to cut and mangle the place it rested.
If one could just withstand the pain long enough to have the glass finally removed,
the real person would be revealed...only an illusion.
but instead what is left is a dripping, throbbing bloody mess.

What is your purpose? Are you interested in me?
Are you interested in yourself? Proclaiming your identityat no cost too high.
Congratulations on reading the newspaper.
Congratulations on pretending to be an elitist prick.
Congratulations on your labels and premature opinions
Congratulations on covering discomfort with humor
I am so amuzed
What would it cost you to be real?
What would it cost to remove the glass?

Your second line displays a core theme to your poem.