End of the Road -- Life Lessons Part 2

I reach a new place in the Hallway.
This is darker, more lonesome.
I'm scared.
I lie in on cold, hard dirt,
Too weak now to even stand.
I am in such pain.
Every part of my being cries out for relief.
I can no longer sob the tears that press
So hard against my eyes.
It is so dark I can see no way out.
There are no longer clouded windows
In which I can see small fragments of life.
I am now farther than anyone can reach.
I am alive, I breathe,
But I am dead.
I crave control of some part of this mess.
So I begin to draw.
I use a thick red ink
And a silver pen.
My strokes cannot be erased.
They become part of my being.
I cannot feel anything anymore.
The pain my art brings does not reach the surface.
I wish to scream.
I open my mouth, yet nothing escapes
But a shallow and weak cry
Barely audible even to me.
I tear at my skin,
Wishing to only let the pain escape.
Slowly the light begins to swell.
My parched lips cry out
In tones I feel will never be heard.
Then suddenly the light shines so brightly.
I am struck with an even deeper pain.
I feel naked, exposed.
No one, now seeing my art,
Can ever accept me, I know.
Loving arms enfold me,
Even through my struggle
To stay far away.
The lines of my drawings hurt.
The invisible scars are ripped open.
At some time I remember
Someone once telling me that some wounds,
In order to heal,
Must first be ripped open.
I take a little strength,
And climb to my knees.
I slip into those arms and weep.
I am, for some measure of time,

Safe.