Manic

My tears no longer are my company.
My world is no longer my own.
My eyes behold the thing I never wanted to admit
And the reality of it all sends me into a downward spiral as I lay,
Piled on the floor and falling over myself; a corpse
And I dare ask what is tomorrow!

My kind heart is my death.
I believed I could change the world.
I believed in hope and life,
But kindness only uses and abuses.
Kindness only tramples upon my face offering hints
Of appreciation in return

They say that I have much to make me happy.
I shouldn’t let myself feel this way.
I have family and friends and life and good health.
I should be grateful for my blessings and appreciate
The things others wish for,
Only to lack

I have eyes.
I can see and am the envy of the blind man.
Oh but eyes are only a blessing if capable of beholding beauty.
I see nothing and I am in the dark.
They are of no use to me in the darkness that is my existence.
I am not blessed.

My ears hear my own cries.
There is no one else with me.
There is no one there, even if to shed a tear with me.
What good are ears if the music of my existence does not play for me?
My own sadness and silence exist together and are enemies, one to the other.
I am not blessed.

I have family. I have friends.
I am surrounded by people so preoccupied with everyone and everything else that
They do not notice my sadness.
I have friends as close to me as I let them.
These people believe my smiles because they do not wish to find anything else
And I won’t let them in because they will leave if I do.
I am not blessed.


I have a home.
A house that isn’t a home should be called a house.
In truth and in fact, it would be better off called bricks and mortar
Because it is cold and shields me from the reality I run from daily.
Even it is against me.
I am not blessed.

And my health was given to me to enjoy life.
My eyes see a world I do not wish to live in.
My ears listen in hope and I hear nothing but the noise of silent despair.
My tongue has only eaten the bitterness of this world and of tragedy.
My skin is the only thing holding me together
But even it knows I am broken.
What life is there when hope is dead?
Watch me and tell me in all truth whether I am blessed.