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.