I write, I cry...I don’t and I will die

I see you by my side
Knowing you are not there.
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I write because I’m unhappy
And even I need some release
From this melancholy siesta
This pitiful, pitiful prison.

I write because I’m weak
An I feel I must make you all happy,
Keep you satisfied
And let you think that
I’m really in control.

I write because I need to remember
Where I came from to know where
Not to go
To never forget the slow sinking dew drops
In my soul.
To win one unsubstantial battle
In this war, which
I cannot begin to fight.

I write because I need to cry
- cry out to anyone willing to listen.
I write because I feel
- feel nothing but hurt, in flesh
like salt in the open

I, like a needle – I hurt
I hurt because I do not know
I do not know because,
I cannot know.
At least not today, not while
I’m unhappy.