See the pain dripping from my veins,
the ache of the perfectionist heart.
I cannot be what you want me to be.
And on it drips...
Welling up inside me,
until I cannot breath.
Take it away, and then I might be free,
to look upon this life without misery.
Let me sleep and it shall fade,
the cells shall regenerate.
Yet what cure is there?
to give the miracle of joy.
Yet they do not see this pain.
Must! Not see this pain.
It must be hidden from their view,
the marks bandaged and the tears wiped away
Call the wailing hordes of self-pity.
So I may rest, listening to their song,
their sweet calming songs of despair,
let me sleep...
Felis s. humanus. 2002.
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