Value of Me

This is no bad dream of mine,

For I can’t wake up,

This is real life,

With too many strife,

It pierces into the walls I’ve built,

Like a knife

But it’s been too long,

Becoming too rife.

For years I endure an endless sequence,

And tolerate in tension and silence,

Until the time I lost my human touch,

The flood of emotions is just too much,

I fall into a place where no one will miss,

In the cold embrace of my black abyss.

Why have I failed myself?

Why did I stay like this?

A self-labelled subject,

Of society’s reject,

Unfeeling void should be better than angst,

Correct?

Can’t I just blame it

In retrospect?

Yet in this muck of self-pity and sorrow,

I yearn for true warmth from any window,

But how can I be sure what is real?

Too long since I had anything to feel,

Burned are all fond and hated memories,

But their ashes did not give me release.

If only I can wake up,

To look in the mirror,

With no worry,

And simply happy,

And doing so for the rest of my life,

Freely

Then there’s no price,

To the value of me.

*-*-*-*-*

June 2004

Written from personal experience