How Badly Would it Hurt to Know You?

Sometimes I wonder how badly it would hurt to know you.
The you that's so distinctly lost,
with no where to go beneath all of your delusions.
You were beautiful to me once,
when there was still a piece of me that believed in untouched beauty.
Perfection so real I could nearly taste it beneath the tips of my fingers.
I wonder if you can feel me inside you,
the way I breathe with so much sorrow
and a love that has no hand to fall into.
I hope you let it consume you,
the way it has my own soul for so long.
I can barely recall what it feels like to have something tangible within my grasp.
I can feel the cracks forming beneath the flesh upon my face
as the tears flow so smoothly across the surface,
though I'd bet you can't see that the corners are jagged with deceit.
I bleed to know I'm still here,
to feel something more than the emptiness this life begs of me to swallow.
The days never cease,
seizing my mind in the moments I can't sleep
and carving at the darkest corners of my mind.
How can something so designed,
so perfectly placed in time,
be so hard to comprehend?
I can't help but think that something inside me hurts
from a place I've yet to return to,
for fear of understanding a world I'm not ready to step into.
There is no tomorrow, only right now;
this moment and all of its horrors.
Gracefully invading my mind,
I wonder if there is a meaning to this life,
to the faces I see are so faded.
But perhaps we're all just strangers,
lost and fighting to find our own way in this place,
screaming for a release from our own personal miseries.
We all have our once upon a time,
a moment we'd give our soul to indulge in just once more.
And I could swear to you,
it's that very moment that we fight our entire lives trying to find again
or at least some semblance of that moment to give us comfort in our purpose here,
the reason for our design.
They say that truly living is the greatest thing you or I could ever do,
but living merely awakens our soul to forms of pain we can only fail to understand,
because we don't understand ourselves.
There's a darkness in my eyes and it weakens my ability
to see this world as anything aside from the depths it drowns me in at times.
I'm rambling,
overflowing with words that I don't expect you to understand
but they make sense to me so I succumb to them
and I find my own release;
a temporary written escape from the chaos.
How could you ever believe that you know me when I don't even know myself
any more than you comprehend your own being?
My mind is one, unique in existance.
Unduplicated,
failing to exist beyond any soul aside from my own.
My spine tingles beneath my flesh at the thought...
Of finding something of value in the reason I breathe.