Real

Sometimes I wish

I had never been born;

my life holds no purpose

when it is held hostage

by those who hate me.

There is no excuse

for the pain I feel

that like a knife

shreds the flesh of my heart

and scars my memory.

I smile through

unending tears;

I bear the burden

of solitude.

My spirit has broken

and gradually I die,

the flower of my life

wilting and shriveling

in the quiet night.

Will I ever know love and happiness;

are those things even real?

then touch me

and take my hand,

rekindle my flame.

Make the sun's light real

so I may find my way

out of this maddening darkness;

touch me to find

my buried hopes and dreams.