by Dr. Agonson
Tears falling over themselves
racing down my face
over my lips I taste their salt.
I cry ceaselessly to no avail
I make myself desolate
I am an empty shell
I am as the skin of a squeezed grape
nothing left for anything
but to be thrown away
Can I be remade from this?
Why does hope sting me so?
Do I prefer this state of death?
Torn from head to toe
my mind is fractured
I face my own demons
Who am I, and why?
Oh daunting superfluous ego
what trouble we have.
Satisfied with bread
sated by the sweet river
why must I find myself in this?
Like a dirty sign over a café
neon that scares the stars away
all beauty runs from me as I know me.
For what pain I have sought you
has been sown for this future.
But what shall I reap now?
What is this future beyond my tears?
I cry forever and then what?
Shall I cry in my grave or dream therein?
And of what dreams should I hope?
That pealing tearing hope continues,
mercilessly I hope against myself.
Terrible ruthless hope
dogs me in this night,
whispering of a sunrise
And would I be ready?
That day must come,
when pain is fading shadows.
But without my pain
what am I, and who?
Is there more here than scars?
Would I be without pain?
From pain I was made,
I was formed by these tears.
What foundation can here be seen
what ground do I stand on if not pain
Therefore what hope do I find?
I cry for a cure
but without my disease
I know not myself.
Tell me who I am.
Make the shattered whole
I give myself up
Tale Told 