The blackness in me doubts- a veil to hide me from myself. To protect me if ever those dreams should shatter. In this darkness, I won't see the pieces. But I can feel the cutting edges of the hopes I have lost. At least I don't have to see how broken they are.
The wounds of a broken dream might be hidden behind that velvet mask of cynicism. But seen or not, they will bleed. Darkness is no bandage. They have bleed before, from slashes to pin pricks. Scars are there too. Between them it's difficult to find a place of perfect flesh. I want them to be found, to be discovered on purpose and tended too with gentleness and understanding. Some suture to help them heal properly, and treatment to lessen the scars. Until then, I will pretend that I have not been wounded.
Because it's no one's fault.
Merely the product of a hopeful mind full of doubt and an dreaming heart aching for authenticity.