Lack There Of

I fear I have found confusion;
A hallow bit of forgotten past.
I feel used and somewhat taunted.
Can someone be real for once?

I need reassurance, a bit of explaining
As to why I feel the way I do, now.
The grass seems bare, and the sky so bitter;
If beauty has fallen, what is left for me?

I'm torn between living and reality,
Between self failure and other's torment.
The music seems to fade away,
Swallowed whole by the nearest shadow.

The paint seems to run off the canvas,
The words seem to leap from the pages themselves.
There are no morals left for me to mend:
I fear I have made my final conclusion:

I am doomed for all to see, and
I fear there's nothing I can do.