Just a Touch

I am half the man that I once was,
but that is not saying too much.
One dream died as every one does,
beginning and ending with a touch.

The initial touch was to comfort me,
instilling new and wonderful things,
Leading me out of the darkness to see...
all the wonderful joy love brings.

The final touch is felt deep inside,
for it tears my heart through my flesh,
hurling me back to where hope has died,
with its corpse still bloody and fresh.

So be wary how you touch this man,
for his soul is shattered and broken,
and he may resent the outstretched hand...
even if his resentments are unspoken.

The fragile soul gently seeps
through sorrowful, delicate eyes,
but no matter how much this vessel weeps,
reciprocity abandons his cries.

The only solace in a heartbeat numbed,
the only sign of joy on this face,
is knowing one day death will come,
and take me away from this place.

As my final breath finds its home,
among the frigid midnight air...
this torn vessel will no longer roam,
under misery's relentless stare.

Yet I fear that arrogance strikes again,
to assume that I can find peace.
All dreams and desires have been slain,
and devoured piece by piece.

Nothing to feed on but regrets and rage,
wallowing as the fates intend.
Silent and broken I fester in the cage,
where my humanities must come to an end.