When I envision pain,
I do not see myself nor my past.
I see white walls,
Strange people,
And odd, complicated machines.
I see a flash of red,
A pool of purple,
And a poisonous green.
My pain is not mine.
Your pain is mine.

It kills me to see,
That you and I are the same,
Yet you went through so much more,
And I, nothing.
Yet, there you are.
"Fixed,"
And I still malfunctioning from time to time,
With no socket wrench or duct tape in sight.
I still see the flashes from time to time.
Not the red or purple or green.
But the flashes of my old self.
The me that comes out when I'm not with you.
And it's weird that today,
Was the first time I've ever seen these,
When I was with you.
It was discomforting.
To know that you're not completely steel.
That I can still be reached.
To know I'm still broken,
Even with my force field to protect me,
And my super glue to keep me together.

I pray that I never again,
Have to endure your pain.
To see those white walls,
To hear your muffled voice on the phone.
To know that you are a stranger,
Yet less strange than your surroundings.
To know that I will not see you,
For at least a week,
And be completely helpless about it.

I changed my mind.
And my prayers.
I pray that I can endure,
Every bit of your pain,
So that you don't have to.
I pray that I remind myself everyday,
Of that flash of red,
That pool of purple,
And that poisonous green.
So that I can learn to forget to feel the pain,
And simply endure.