the belief that illness makes you more sensitive to suffering is a false positive, a self- delusion. the truth is less. sickness cocoons the greedy ones as easily as enabling empathy for others who endure their pains without the need to spell them out for all to see. a test but not a guide. pierce your skin with a knife and what comes to mind? your self collapsed within the throbbing and the blood you watch spill out across what's left unharmed. somewhere a saint reflects, and in her ignorance all else evaporates, denuded by what agony cannot relieve. she cries. I wish I knew what she can feel, desensitized by faith. a warmth in winter melting snow. my heart.