Soliloquy

The grass that my feet touch fails to grow anymore,
As does the glow that my heart refuses to grasp.
If there were any light left for me to wander into,
I would have little apart from my sanity in this bedlam.
Torn asunder by the remnants of whatever pride I have
In my aimless existence, the purpose and integrity
My friends feed into my brain leave no residues at all.
What choice do I have but to saunter past the love
That shakes me awake at the crack of dawn every day,
Past the house where I constantly hope to see your face,
Past the welcoming glances of those who seek

Neither my friendship nor my charity – who am I
But the product of the consequences of my actions?
Who can understand the hurt and longing of
My unfulfilled efforts, that which my heart always hides?
Who am I if not the saint that my friends turn to in
Times of distress and who is left to his own devices
In times of pain and immense discomfort; for I will
Survive on my own in a world choosing to leech
My blood for its vested interests unnoticed by many
But seeking to etch, against all odds, a place of my
Own in the annals of a history I seek to create.

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