The speaker of “Sympathy” is surrounded by kind people bringing milk and bread, touching her gently, and telling her to rest. Outwardly she seems quiet and thankful, but inside she is in torment: memory beats like black wings in her head, and grief claws at her chest like a starving wolf. She knows her friends mean well, yet their care feels useless and far away. She is so full of inward pain that she wonders why she does not scream.
Her thoughts then turn violently against comfort. She says she would rather be crucified or stabbed, because physical pain would at least feel real and might release the agony she cannot express. The last lines are bitterly final: she tells them to save their love for people who still want life, and to stop feeding her, since grief has already starved her to death. The mood is anguished, alienated, and eerily calm on the surface.