I’m so tired
Of living,
Of aching with the weight
Of other peoples’ secrets;
Of hurting with the knowledge
That I’m hollow and barren
And a downright cow;
Of inflicting pain on those I love
And looking into their eyes
And seeing that they hate me
While my love lingers on,
Fruitless;
Of staring at the ceiling motionless
And wondering how on earth I live on
When any other egg and sperm
Could have made someone
More brilliant,
More special,
More caring
Than I can ever be;
Of watching the colours turn grey
Every few weeks
Like clockwork
And the world’s pallid nature
Strikes me bleak and significant
And it seems that everyone is trying
Hard as they like
As they might
To make me leave this world, this life;
Of breaking hearts;
Of stealing souls;
Of ever being optimistic
(Between the bouts of grey)
And finding my hope fruitless,
Or any fruit bound to its boughs
Black and without life.
Like me.
Me:
Without life.