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Your scars remain before my eyes |
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Even those you choose not to reveal |
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Sensitive enough to yet bring tears |
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A burden of grief that |
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I cannot ease |
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Dejectedly |
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I sit and stare |
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Feeling all of my wounds afresh |
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Deep they reach into repressed |
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Feelings which |
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I ever hoped to hide |
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Driven to our self-inflicted pain |
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And compelled to re-live again |
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All of our vulnerable yesterdays |
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Thus we cope in our different ways |
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Who can tell me where to hide |
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What will make you whole inside |
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Most things |
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I know will never change |
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Especially not the ones we wish |
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I torture myself |
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For I haven't any answers |
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So in despair we continue on |
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Fearful of another sunrise |
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Of another harmful dream |
