I lost myself some time ago,
and could not get me back.
I mourn in silent agony,
for the things that I now lack.
The passion that once drove me,
has vanished into air.
And the things that I once loved to do,
it's like they were never there.
Monotony and endless days,
are bland and dull and dreary.
The life that I've now settled to,
drains, and leaves me weary.
I don't recognise my face these days,
the light has left my eyes.
And even though I say I'm fine,
I don't believe those lies.
I miss the me that I once was,
And long for her return.
To reignite the fire,
and watch this empty shell burn.
Anger bubbles, soon to be quelled. Silent promises never honoured, keep your emotions to yourself.
Words unspoken, choking tongue and tasting bitter. Fists clenched, hold back, everything is fine.
Indulge. Pander. Pretend. Play the role, live the lie. No one cares to know, no one thinks to care.
Frustration leaves marks on the skin, half moon scars. Mustn’t be a burden. Listen, smile, leave welts in flesh. Bleed quietly.
Paste a grin, wear the mask. Don’t let them in.
I never say what I want to say. The words get stuck in my throat, and what comes out is not what I’m screaming inside my head. My lips are painted with the ghosts of a thousand whispered confessions, murmured to the night and lost in the nothing. Bravery would unleash those secret things and leave my throat unobstructed, but I have always been scared. Words are both weapons, and chains, and I am trapped by things left unsaid. I am small, and I was never meant to be a hero.
Teetering on the edge of “tear my hair out” frustration.
Hit with a severe case of no inspiration.
Sweating in heat, lack of precipitation.
I can’t even be bothered with masturbation.
There’s a holiday opinion dividing the nation.
Proving their points in mass demonstration.
Though all I can think, to my indignation, is
Long weekend, but no motivation.
Curse you, foolish, sentimental heart.
I would sooner tear you from my body than let your wickedness poison me any longer.
Rot. Wither and die before me, as the cavity you left in my chest weeps and bleeds.
I can do without you. I will grieve you not.
I am not a deep thinker,
Or an eloquent speaker.
I cannot write music,
And barely write verse.
I’m not often funny,
And quite far from sunny.
I’m a bit weird and awkward,
Ah, but things could be worse.
I could be friendless,
Or totally loveless,
I could be hopeless,
Or stiff in a hearse.
So despite all my defects,
And all my bad aspects,
The thing to recall,
Is that life ain’t a curse.
All who are lonely need not be disheartened.
You are not alone.
We are, all of us, lonely too.
Not the happy people.
Not the content.
But the lost, and the left.
If we all came together, we the lonely
We would come to realise
That we are in good company.
And none of us should ever have to feel alone again.