I walk about the streets,
Seeing those who suffer.
My tears fall for what I imagine
Their fate to be.

Tell me your battles,
Show me your pains,
Give me your confidence,
I'll help you.

"You cannot help,"
I hear them say
And think it only
Dispair.

"You don't want to know."
Another speaks,
And I see it just as
Pain.

Tears fall harder,
For I think of them
Imagining themselves to be
Lost.

"Your world is nicer,
When you don't know our
Names.

You will live in peace,
If you only live like
The others,
Ambivilant to our existance."

"Tell me your pains!"
I scream.
"Do you really want to know?"

So I hear their pains,
So I understand their suffering.
So my ears grasp hold of stories,
Previously only like a phantom,
Mist in the night,
Nigtmares are real,
In a time that was once peaceful.

Tears no longer fall.
It is beyond expression.
I hear their voices in my head at Night.

I do not cry for help,
It is not a
Dramatization.

They tell it like it is,
The way they see it.
Their voices echo in my
Head.

A ghost at in the dark.
To know they are out there.
I no longer cry.