| The Suffering Why do I hurt so long and deep, while others fair much better? And only express myself, in poems or in a letter.? My feelings carried close to me, I can not put them away. They become a part of me, each and everyday. The pain intense, scarring vivid, the tatoos of my life. As I hide even from myself, trying to abandon all my strife. I try to sleep, sometimes I do, I awake, it's all the same. Tired, worn out , and hungry. for someone I need to love. Other friends I have about, I share their pain and happiness. But I always have to look through mine, so this means I care less. My pain, a vision, I view it everyday. It's like a wound that festers, getting worse, never going away. Some day I know within my heart, I'll succumb to these thoughts. For I am weak of strength and will, or is it stronger with what I've brought? I now look forward to the day, when God rests my weary breath. That I may someday smile again, in that peaceful song of death. The Masked Writer <+.+> (C) 2001 T Lovett |