Tightrope

_______________________________

In the morning I can't

seem to get out of bed.

The floor, no the world

is lava, maybe it would

help if I drank java

but I hate the stuff

and the voices in my head

make thinking twice as tough.

--

When I do arise

it should be of no surprise

that I spend my life

walking on a wire like

in a circus, feeling that

there's really no purpose.

--

I walk around either feeling

nothing or feeling things

I can't explain, scared to

drive in the rain, snakes in

my brain making me quite

insane.

--

I can't blame her for leaving

I was so anxiously insecure

I did good for a while because

my supposed sanity was very

deceiving.

--

I can't accomplish anything.

I don't work and I rarely play,

everything's the same day to day.

All I do is write and sometimes

even that feels trite.

--

Even now these rhymes seem lame,

every now and then a juxtaposition,

but basically they're all sound

the same.

--

I don't know what to do anymore

I feel trapped in this room, all

alone in this tomb. Maybe it's

just me, sometime, somewhere I

did something wrong now I'm paying

for it, I no longer have a place that

I belong.

--

I talk to God but there's no answer

It be nice if he/she would give me

a solution but as always, all I get

is more mental pollution.

--

But I keep getting up, hoping each

day will be different, I'll make a

friend, or write an amazing poem or

regain things I've lost but it just

seems that every good thing I get

comes at a cost.

--

So I guess I'll keep walking

this tightrope, avoiding the lava pits,

and trying to not start any fires.

If the loneliness doesn't kill me,

and I don't kill myself maybe some

muse will come rescue me and

give me some help.

_______________________________

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Thanks for reading! - Sam