Saturday, November 3, 2018

Aloneness the Depths of Sorrow

From cradle to grave, it's been an iron fist
I could not make or find anyone to love me for me, my greatest sorrow
I am the ink, in the pen, held within someone else's hand
Those who say they want to hear your pain, really don't, really can't fathom tho they may try
To be worlds away from the person sitting next to me
To feel more alone in a crowded room than at 3am
Who wants to hear despair, they cannot handle the moaning ferociously blasting tone.
My funeral will be a sparse affair, a blip on no ones radar, a single leaf blowing by in a storm.
Unmissed, unloved, just twas my life undone, unsung, and oh, so mighty unhappy for that I thank the cruelty of mom and dad for destroying me so thoroughly and well. Good job Sharon and Don, you done a very good job

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