Broken Hearts, Shattered Minds

Where do we start to describe/ all that has gone wrong?/ Was it on the dark streets/ a man wanders alone?/ Could it have been the empty hearts/ he knew in a place he called home?// I knew someone like that once. I see him in the mirror occasionally. He stares back at me with haunted eyes, no words coming from his lips, though he tries to put the torment into words. He really tries, but he can't. Each thought he chokes on, until I begin to fear the effort will kill him. The next time I see him, the effort is renewed: he has to connect to the world, but there is no way he can. I cry to see him suffer, but there's no way I can help him; I wouldn't know where to begin. He is lost, and I have to turn away before I am sucked into his pain, and I lose what little is left of me. I know I could have done more.

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