I wish you see me praying for you.
Drifting into lovely self-inflicted nightmares.
Watching your crimson struggles
and hoping you hear the muffled screams
from those who came before you.
I wish to be a sharp blade glistening in the dark
for all to see while they walk home.
A book of instructions with pages of inspiration.
To be announced as the first of many,
the root of the valley's oak.
The voice even the blind would paint,
the ache that allows your dead to feel.
The warmth in your heart and the tingling on your tongue.
I don't want to bear all your burdens
but I wish to be the reason your burdens don't scare you.