My Senses

I see your guilt through tired eyes,

Two bloodshot victims of countless nights

Expressing dejection in bitter solitude.

I smell your fear through a raw nose,

One that runs hand in hand with tears

As the fighting gets worse.

I hear your anger through damaged ears,

Pierced entirely by deafening and relentless

Daggers laced with hostility.

I taste your pain through a bleeding mouth,

As cheeks are manipulated by teeth

in a sad attempt to rip the crippling anxiety away.

I feel your sorrow through an aching heart,

Vulnerable enough to allow dread to seap

Through its cracks and into veins of a body

That is no longer my own.

The one thing my senses are not able to muster

Is something good.

The one thing that sparks such poignant longing in my soul

Without existing right in front of me

Is anything good.