Life is the cycle of wounds and pain

that will not heal.

I cry to remind myself

that I can still feel.

I pray for blindness

and shy beneath my shame.

I scream to be free,

but I dig my own grave.

But when I hear your sadness,

I wish that I could see.

I call out to help you,

but I’m drowning in my own blood.

And I cannot escape the thick mud

of the fear I cannot look through.

And so you suffer too.

And so I die with you.