My life is the penance for the sins of another.
What are weeks, months and years? I have forgotten.
Time has no sympathy for me.
Tomorrow holds no hopeful expectations, yesterday no reminder of better times.
What is the day but my adversary and a rainbow but a myth?
In the darkness of night I dwell as a shadow of emptiness and yearning.
My feelings are sealed away by survival's demand, will anyone ever find them?
I am forced to flee because of what I am, no one cares who I am.
My laments are heard only by the walls that surround me, their comfort is stale.
Puzzles offer a welcome distraction but hunger is reality.
Blood mingled with death is the only aroma I'll ever know.
My hunger decides the fate of others yet my own I cannot discern.
I will not deny the flavor of my craving nor its bitter aftertaste of remorse.
I forsake the dark nature that threatens to consume me but it does not forsake me.
My resolve grows weary yet slumber grants no reprieve.
Visions of my prey adorn my eyelids and their lost pleas roam my ears.
Is redemption only for those who are not abhorred?
What are love and merriment but words my lips have forgotten?
Is there not one soul with motives born not of harm or lust?
With wings I take flight but my heart does not soar.
I desire to know and be known.
I want the welcome of a stare and not its burn.
To bear a smile instead of fangs is my wish.
The flow of laughter in place of tears is my yearning.
I long to feel the comfort of touch instead of the clenching of claws.
The emptiness of my desires creates true hunger, its gnawing a real curse.
Am I so vile that compassion is wasted on me?
To those who would cast stones I make only this appeal:
Be me a little.
Din Eli