Pain and Hell

Pain and Hell              July 22, 2012

In darkest night,

I sit in a chair,

Wondering when she,

Whomever "she" be,

Will sweep me off my feet.

I must confess

That after all the mental debating,

I'm at wits end,

And will never know true love

So long as true love exists.

 

Pain is a derivative

Of an age long since gone.

I can see myself convulsing

Over the lack of a lover,

Over the dearth of pleasure,

Over the abundance of hurt.

I sit here, wishing for death

If for no other reason than to

Hasten this feeling of emptiness

I have forever felt.

 

There is no soul to talk to

Other than arguing with myself,

Arguing with, at best,

A very quiet shadow of lies and truth.

Somehow, I seem to feel numb,

And wish to drink away my sorrows

If for only a second

To kill this hollow feeling

Deep within my bosom.

This must be what Hell is, after all.