I doubt anyone would write for me
Since I so rarely get,
The things I set my heart upon
The things I might regret.
So little do I now expect
And have little hope or fear,
I draw a circle around myself
And find my pleasure there.
I do not like my acquaintances
nor do they like me,
Their words are hard, like jagged rocks
Their trembling eyes like scree.
Alone I read, I dream, I shout
With my music loud I wait,
For something that will never come
I blame my faultless fate.
I throw myself upon others' will
Yet know none will ever say,
The words that show me to myself
And burn my heart away...
Saturday, January 10, 2009
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