The pain pervades my body, weaves its tendrils through my soul,
Touching on and changing everything that makes me whole.
The love I bear within me turns to black and bitter bile
That pours forth uncontrolled despite my heart's intent to smile.
I speak tirades of anger, to the ones I love the most;
After years of this possession, am I me? Or but a host?
Do the shredded nerves of damaged flesh and limbs belie the truth?
Or do their years of speaking through me mean the words are saying sooth?
Is it me within the darkness? Or the darkness within me?
And is there some perspective that I could achieve, to see?
So I battle back the darkness, grab the shattered knife of pain,
Hoping somehow, if I hold it close, to keep them safe again;
I love them beyond meaning, beyond words, and beyond time,
And this can't go on forever - yet I wonder, still, if I'm
The person that I think of, when asked what makes me me,
Or if pain beyond remembering shades everything I see,
No matter where I seek the truth, within, without - the lies
That pain tells in my name are what I see within their eyes.