I find myself wishing for pain, the kind of pain I see all around. In movies, books, television, some real, some imagined. And sure I have the kind imagined, all kinds, some I've even thought of myself. But never any real pains. And I ask myself, 'Why in the nine hells would you want that?' And the answer is simple, 'So I can cry.'

I want to cry for the feeling of being lost, but I never am.
I want to weep for people who have passed early, but the live on.
I want to sob for a loved one's rejection, but I am still loved.
I want to cry for being helpless, but no one will allow it.
I want to weep for not being believed, but no lies have been told.
I want to sob for being hurt, but people protect me.

I can cry though, for my imagined life. The people dead, the endless strife. It's how I amuse myself when I'm all alone and afraid of the world.
It's how I fall asleep when it's to dark to see. It's how I smile for the people around me. I just allow myself the nights and days of pain I so crave.

I want to cry for being alone.
I want to weep for being truly scared.
I want to sob for a life worth ending.
I want to cry for a lost child.
I want to weep for a widowed girl.
I want to sob for an apocalypse survived alone.