I can see, but I am blind.
I can hear, though I am deaf.
I can speak, yet I am mute.
I find myself wandering, like a spirit,
Walking the same path over.
I cannot tell if a dream has taken me
Or if I am truly moving.
I feel, but I am carved of stone.
I cry, though there are not tears.
I breathe, yet the air dies before it reaches my lungs.
Why is the dark so clear in the light?
Is it naive to love the white in the black?
I want to love, but hatred turns my veins to fire.
I need to fight, though my body is weak.
I must help, yet I stand hesitantly.
I am alive, and, I am dead.