The senseless feeling.

Aching for attention, my restless body and mind wage war.
The body bound in paralysis the body urges the mind for some intimacy.
The fruitless hope of thought mocks the mind at the realisation of the same familiar pattern.

Am I just too proud?
Can't I admit my need?
Too weak to show my vulnerability?

I lie awake, tortured.
Desire unfulfilled.
Hope in what?

A piece, a slither, a crack in the doorway of hope.
No hope lies beyond.
Can I find peace?