Is this some form of punishment
For evils past committed
Or only fuel for those of future?
other men - pains I hold within
The cloak of feign has long been wearing thin
Unknown to them are my thoughts of could've been
So small a portion of the irritants under skin
I feel the nihility of life
through the pain, but what's to gain
Another day in which my hope is fading
sorrow persists in my mind
Looming, constant, unwelcome
Shadows growing longer, never feeling quite at home
Consciousness is not meant for me
Positive in nothing, the window falls to sill
Closing, cooling the warmth in me
Unable to hold faith in that which can't be true
What is there left for which to breathe?
Crushing hands whiten
Is this a good sign?
A sort of symbol of meaning?
Or only rage at my shortcomings?
Now plain to see
is the despondency
The cloak of feign transformed into transparency
Dwelling on thoughts of never be
It's quite clear that winning will escape me
of it all