Insight

If you could know what I know, the depth and breadth of what is past, the feelings in the dungeon heart, then you would know the honesty of that which I impart. If you could feel what I feel, the cut and thrust of steely scorn, the sabre that lays bare the shell, then you would know the agony of seasons spent in Hell. If you could dream what I dream, the better days that never were, the tainting of each crystal dawn, then you would know the destiny of that which dies unborn. If you could breathe what I breathe, the bitter chaff of tin foil dust, the veto of the telling air, then you would know the gravity of love in disrepair. If you could see what I see, the way that you are cut to size, deceived by fractions bit by bit, then you would see the death of me, of whom and why I care...