I close my eyes and pray.
May there be a day when breathing doesn't mean pain. When the dead black bird on my chest flapping its wings doesn't make my heart skip its beats.
May there come a day when love means happiness.
I pray for a day with no more blood, no more red tears running down my cheeks, no more streams down my legs, no more life escaping me.
I pray for a day when sunshine shines on me.
When death is ahead of me and not in me.
I pray for a peaceful night's sleep. An innocent's sleep, no nightmares, no dark demons tormenting me on the early hours.
I pray for a smile that answers mine.
I pray for a tiny soft hand cupped inside mine, a soft touch, a tiny ear to whisper magic spells of love and comforting.
I pray for a second chance. For talent. Ability. Skills.
Fot this crippled hands to be able to hold a glass and write without the cold needle piercing my nerves.
For this useless bones to carry my weight.
I look up to the moon and I let out a long howl, crying my shame, my pain, my sadness.
As I despise myself I embrace my own. I crawl to my den where amongst dead bodies I pick on my skin, scratch my face, let the knife come to my aid and provide its bittersweet relief.
