Emotion to Literature: Blindness

Most of the time, I wish I were blind.
I envy the life of the blind, may that be in pitch darkness or endless blur.
The clear vision of this world is too difficult to handle at times.
The gazes of people which otherwise wouldn't matter surround me and constrict me.

Sometimes, I just imagine being blind one day.
Will my friends be sorry for me then?
Will I be sympathized a little more then?
Will they look at me with softer eyes then?
Will the significant come back to greet me? Say hello?
Maybe. Just maybe.
I will never know, but the hope is less darker than me right now.

Suddenly, I realize that I wish I were blind only because
I have already seen all these things.
I have seen and felt. That's why.
I would still have to shoulder the past.
I might even turn into a bitter person.
So pointless...

Suddenly, I wish I were deaf.
But would my inner voice stop?
I fear it wouldn't.
So pointless...

I'm already blind, blind to the small appreciations.
I'm already blind, blind in my own small world.
I'm already blind, blind of my ignorance.
I'm already deaf, deaf from the bombardment of inner thoughts.
I guess I'll just be me and live on.