Withdraw

What could I do, save giving in?

As lonely as the elephant feels,

Meandering through a game I won’t win.

The zest of life, away it steals,

Leaving me empty, devoid of a heart,

Left in strands, I’m falling apart.

 

A drape without a seamstress;

I’ve a heel but no sole.

Something’s wrong, clearly amiss.

And of my sanity? Away, it stole,

One night long ago, the darkest night

Where I once held a light,

Extinguished, fleetingly fleeing such fright.

 

Tragic you think, indeed, so-quite.

But everything occurs, evidently,

For a reason that begets me,

And when ways parted, so wept thee,

Water of a crimson sea.

 

It is what it is, you just might say.

It is what it is, that nothing goes my way.

It is what it is, you can’t change that!

It is what it is, and it is just that.

 

I’m just a toy with which to play,

You think that it’s okay,

That all it is is play,

But it is what it is –

You always get your way.

 

Whatever makes me happy always makes you sad.

Whatever makes me happy just cannot be had.

Whatever goes my way will only make you mad,

So whatever makes me happy, simply cannot be had.

 

You have these expectations

Of all that I should be.

I work these machinations

Of all that I could see,

But you have those expectations,

So I will not be me

 

I want you to be happy,

For you to just be pleased,

But it never happens.

You wonder why I leave?

Because, it just so happens,

That you always make me bleed.

 

I’m tired of feeling empty,

It’s all I seem to feel.

No one, nor thing, will ever fill me,

So I’ll just sleep my life away,

And stop feeling so empty.

 

 

I have these problems to solve,

But I’m without equation,

And I haven’t an ambition

Because I just brood and involve

No one, no body, and no thing.

I just destroy myself slowly –

A poison in a poison fling.

I have a vision so lowly:

None at all, dreams are for kings.

Sailing always, success is fleeting.

 

Back and forth, back and forth,

That’s my life, that’s my worth.

That’s my story, that’s my curse.

 

But, my story is taking

Too long to end.

I can’t rid myself

Of pages to spend.

The spine begins breaking,

But it hasn’t found a shelf.

I’d like to find

A hole and hide

So I can lie

And not be woken

Nor be broken,

For the pain is much,

Too much to bear-

A deathly air,

And as such, I won’t air.

 

So in its stead I’ll alter course,

Confine my remorse to a heart of lead,

To a heart so coarse, that bled, and bled,

Till it bled no more from casting its lot

For a love that fed Despair and begot,

Until I withdrew, withdrawn in my head,

But as sorrow grew, so had my pain,

Until it all led - It would constrain

All of my hope – To me being dead.