Cyclic Nature

So it begins again.
This cycle of how much I hate myself.
All over stuff that is trivial dust in the wind...

I'm so tired...I hurt so badly right.
Why...why the hell do I want things I can't have?
I shouldn't have?

I'm so sick of me...sick of bleeding out my soul and falling fast and hard for no reason just to have my heart crushed with the vice grips of apathy.
Whose fault is it?
Mine for trying too hard and caring...

Flying too close to the sun...
I hate the me that is,
the me that falls into this trap
and makes the mistake
that things are good
and there are happy endings
in this hellish wasteland
where the only hope is in the beyond.

Any good is ripped apart shortly thereafter...
So many things...so little....
The combination...so fleeting...

Can you see?
Do you feel?
Would it matter if the time was split asunder
and every moment between now and infinity
was brought close
and I placed it in your hand?

No one knows what I'm talking about
because I don't.
There are so many thoughts screaming through my head
that I can't sort them out.
All of these dead people who will not be silent
and all of the blood on my soul
screaming out convictions
that only Jesus can take away.
But He can't
because I can't let go long enough.
I hate myself so much I make myself suffer
which is the grand irony of this all.

I want to feel the lungs empty
I want an end
a real resolution.
I want so desperately for a happy ending
that cannot exist
because in so many ways I do not.

You say happy and I don't know what that means
I just know my soul is heavy
and there is a burden which will not leave.
The more I speak of it
the least it makes sense.

There is no healing in Gilead,
no balm
and no healing for the soul.
Living in this house for two years
has been perugatory and Hell.

My soul has found no resolution
just a reptition
of the pain
and the tears
that can't be wiped away.

I just want,
you to care
but that is stupid
because I'm talking to a blank wall.
How can you converse with someone not here?
How can they hear?
How will they respond?
It is merely a useless vanity,
a repition of my voice
because I love myself more than these
and will never bow until I break
and I won't break until I weep.

I try to leave it but I can't.
Every last part of my soul needs to be purged.
I feel so sick,
my body's nerve cells scream in protest an intense pain
and I just want to lay down and die
because that would be preferable
to suffering endlessly
in this circle
and repeating
and falling
and everlasting
hopeless night of the dark soul
looking for a light that isn't there.

I can look to you,
the mere vanity,
a human like you for hope
but there is none in your kind.
I left the human race years ago
when my innocence was a flame
that was quenced by those
drunk off their power
and I lost who I was
to the cruelty
and lack of understanding.

I am.
I am me
and will be
until something changes again
and then you will look
and try to see and find me
but I'll be gone.

I want this dark soul to die
and I want my works to burn
and be my funeral pyre,
so that everything I was
will be blown into the wind
and the nothingness in me
will simple be
and all that is will be
and all in all
it is nothing.