Staring through a moonless night,
Watching as the World spins by,
I write a ponder about the if-onlys,
And all of the empty, heartfelt whys.
I ponder in my mind only,
As the words I speak are influent,
And my well of tears has run dry.
Like a lonely Flower in the Attic,
I start to grieve for all of my stolen years of youth.
Taken from my by siblings, fathers, friends, and ex-lovers.
One by one they stole my little bits of pride.
I no longer smile at objects of once-held beauty.
The hobbies which so preoccupied my time,
I can only sit and stare through.
I think "Why try?".
Theres no longer a hot need for music or acting.
I'm not even myself.
How can I play another?
It's hard enough to be inside my own mind,
Let alone another's.
The night goes on.
I just lose more patience for things that only I notice.
I'm the lonely patron,
Watching terror unfold.
I hear screams and cries,
And yet the World in orbit.
Never it falters or halts to let me off.
On I write,
Ridiculous prose full of pity and loathing.
Whether for myself or for the lives around me,
I do not know.
What good is it to sit and ponder,
When the sun won't come out to keep me alive?
Eternal night and wanting just to make wither inside.