Definitive Proof I am Living

See? When I pick
at the sensitive slips of the skin
at my fingertips,
I bleed.
You see? When I breathe
in the cold, it is there
in the air,
to be seen.
You see? When I sleep
and I twist in my sheets
I am dreaming.
Please.
Doesn’t that mean
I am here?
Shouldn’t pain
be proof
of living?
Shouldn’t the wonder of warmth
and the depth of my dreaming
(I-think-therefore-I-am)
be decisive
definitive
proof?
I breathe and I bleed
and I dream
but still
I wonder.