"My body hurts and I wish I was dead." -Prior Walters

Who knows betrayal
better than the wounded,
their lovers long gone?
We can cast light on shadowy
situations of woeful sadness
but we can't see a way out
when we're in our own maze
of emotional entanglements
heavy underbrush like jungle.

How can we prevent
our bodies from betraying us
when we are diseased?
I know only my own lust
and my own shame
and fear for my own hide,
and my eyes blur
and work against me daily.

I fear, you fear,
don't you?
I am alone and will be alone
I may die alone of a disease
I couldn't have contracted alone
an aquired something
a fear,
a nightmare,
a shadow across the sunny days
we're taught to expect as children.

Pray for us
with no light and no will
to fight for it.