The only thing I crave is your touch,
but my hug stings you
as it presses to your scar.
A hospital wire,
supposed to sustain life,  
moves on its own--
wraps on your neck
as it drains your life.
How could I express my love
If a knife is built within my hands.

But that dagger on your heart
was not on my part;
never my intention,
but moves on its own.
I just want to love
And feel loved.
Affection is what I offer,
Yet pain is what you receive.
Can you blame me for any of it?