• Am I this broken?
    That my tears linger at my eyes,
    that my words fight to go outside.

    Am I this rotten?
    That my lips are broken,
    as my knees keep bleeding.

    Am I this blind?
    That I can’t see what lies behind,
    neither what lays forward.

    Can’t I feel the warmth of a smile,
    the pureness of a hug,
    my own hand before my eyes?

    Cuts stay short.
    Gestures leave drop.
    Burns turned to ashes.
    Words struggle inside.

    Am I this broken,
    that my tears depend on lies?