My eyes would long for the sun.
My nose would be fond of blooming flowers.
My fingers would be cool in your warm hand.
My ears would hear your low steady voice.
My mouth would relish in the sweet taste of water.
But what am I?
My eyes are accustomed to the dank of my lonesome mind.
My nose sniffs the smell of fear.
My fingers trace sharp cutting edge.
My ears the silence of loneliness.
My mouth dry from lack of drink.