Your clouded mind breeds frantic thoughts,
Your starved body poses queer answers

Your vision,
eclipsed by the darkest of clouds,
strains to witness the gleaming sun
they promise rests on the horizon

They’ve become immune to the horror of it all,
deeming your story trite,
ceasing to listen,

But ill be here with hand-cupped ears,
absorbing your every last utterance
of doubt and fear