This world is blind
They know of nothing
The neither hear nor see,no sense
The slightest bit of despair in their presence

This world is deaf
They hear none of my pain
They don't listen,or even want to listen
To what is slowly killing me

The longer the sleeves,th better it hides
The deep,red etches that are my sorrow
I'm sure the sleeves will be longer tomorrow

They are innocent,better yet ignorant
Their lives are simple,& they are content
As they were as children,as they should be
It's how they are,so unlike me

I know not of how I got this way
Only that it is the me that is now
Part of me is dead and the other,
Impatiently longing for death to take it as well

 
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