i am not worthy to having anyone, i am not wanted by anything or anyone, i am alone.. people treat me like shit.. people take what they want from me and go. "sorry i gotta go" "sorry i gotta meet someone" but it all boils down to the fact that people are leaving, and not returning. so i sit here alone, one single stray emotion, on this lonely night opens the flood gates as this tital wave of pleading tears flow from these orbs.. inevitable silence rings off this solitary walls.. the gentle whisper of tears hitting the floor beneath me is the only sound, except for the ringing of your voice in my head which is my only comfort, and my biggest fear.. watching all the happy moments abandon me like every human has done. no one wants me in their life.. they don't care for or about me. i am not wanted.. i am not needed.. i am used i am lied to.. and i am hated, most of all.. i am alone!


i am not pretty.. i am not happy.. i am cruel.. i am lost and cold..forsaken by all people shit.. i am a piece of worthless shit.. no one wants or needs to be with or around me in their life for i don't provide enough.. i am not a good friend.. i am not a good person.. and i am not a good human.. i am a moron.. i am a child.. i am lost and tired.. i am drained and abandoned.. i am not anyone's dream, fantasy,life or lover.. i would not make a good spouce.. i would not make a good friend.. i am sincere..

We sit together and talk, or smoke in silence.
You say (but use no words) 'this night is passing
As other nights when we are dead will pass . . .'
Perhaps I misconstrue you: you mean only,
'How deathly pale my face looks in that glass . . .'

You say: 'We sit and talk, of things important . . .
How many others like ourselves, this instant,
Mark the pendulum swinging against the wall?
How many others, laughing, sip their coffee—
Or stare at mirrors, and do not talk at all? . . .

'This is the moment' (so you would say, in silence)
When suddenly we have had too much of laughter:
And a freezing stillness falls, no word to say.
Our mouths feel foolish . . . For all the days hereafter
What have we saved—what news, what tune, what play?

'We see each other as vain and futile tricksters,—
Posturing like bald apes before a mirror;
No pity dims our eyes . . .
How many others, like ourselves, this instant,
See how the great world wizens, and are wise? . . .'

Well, you are right . . . No doubt, they fall, these seconds . . .
When suddenly all's distempered, vacuous, ugly,
And even those most like angels creep for schemes.
The one you love leans forward, smiles, deceives you,
Opens a door through which you see dark dreams.

But this is momentary . . . or else, enduring,
Leads you with devious eyes through mists and poisons
To horrible chaos, or suicide, or crime . . .
And all these others who at your conjuration
Grow pale, feeling the skeleton touch of time,—

Or, laughing sadly, talk of things important,
Or stare at mirrors, startled to see their faces,
Or drown in the waveless vacuum of their days,—
Suddenly, as from sleep, awake, forgetting
This nauseous dream; take up their accustomed ways,

Exhume the ghost of a joke, renew loud laughter,
Forget the moles above their sweethearts' eyebrows,
Lean to the music, rise,
And dance once more in a rose-festooned illusion
With kindness in their eyes . . .

They say (as we ourselves have said, remember)
'What wizardry this slow waltz works upon us!
And how it brings to mind forgotten things!'
They say 'How strange it is that one such evening
Can wake vague memories of so many springs!'

And so they go . . . In a thousand crowded places,
They sit to smile and talk, or rise to ragtime,
And, for their pleasures, agree or disagree.
With secret symbols they play on secret passions.
With cunning eyes they see

The innocent word that sets remembrance trembling,
The dubious word that sets the scared heart beating . . .
The pendulum on the wall
Shakes down seconds . . . They laugh at time, dissembling;
Or coil for a victim and do not talk at all.


An underlying sense of counting down –
A rhythm deep: enteric thuds –
Each another year to fret and frown
About, wading in the claggy muds
Of trial – to here, the blackened life.

A glint of blade had caught a baggy eye,
Sparking thoughts to jump the fence.
Could I grasp the handle – was I shy
Of what I had to do and hence remain
Enshrined in overwhelming strife?

The metal winked at me again
To beg the possibility
Of halting once and all the pain
To relish an eternity

Of rested shoulders,
Peace of mind;
So here, my wrist

For ‘quick and kind..