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The Fingers Tell a Tale

And an odd tale at that. A man 

who suffers, suffers silently,  

no one hears him 

except for us. We suffer for him 

Compounded anxiety 

Crippling depression 

Countless worries 

No one sees them. 

But we feel them 

and we express them. 

 

Consider the man to whom we belong: 

a lonely man 

a sad man 

a “just fine” man. 

Only a few see his pain. 

We feel it. 

Every thing, Every little thing 

WE are bound to express it. 

Anxiety? 

We type it away. 

Depression? 

Our nails bear its suffering. 

Worries? 

We carry the burden of a pen to relieve it. 

But no one knows what we endure 

Save us 

And you. 

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