this self-loathing is too much for me to bare.
i mean i bare everything:
the actions, the words,
the snickers with
an inflamed chest.
and the struggle cannot be conquered;
i am no soldier, no fighter - subhuman.
i struggle for a sense of purpose
like an infected toilet brush
or maybe a half-chewed pencil eraser. quality beats quantity
but i cannot quantify how many tears i have shed
or the glass-stained memories
that leave ****** scratches on mind.
all along there was no end to this journey,
but shattered dreams paint a more vivid picture
than happiness ever could.

I'm a man of my actions, and not just my words
As more and more seem to fail to be
Although there are still those who still shine a light
In the darkness, just the same as I
But sometimes my actions cannot support words
I've spoken in deepest sincerity
For circumstances that so plague my life
Prevent them from showing through distance and time
I hope that you see that this tragedy is mine
Even more so than it falls upon you
In a world where so many talk without walking
My words are but all that can show how I feel
I wish that this life would so kindly incline
To release me from losing before I lose you
For every tragedy that keeps befalling
Keeps so many dreams that I cherish unreal
I wish I could be so much more than I am
I'm afraid I am all that I will ever be
Be it lover or friend, I am still by your side
No matter what this unfair life will allow
I wish I were there by your side, hand in hand
Through your darkness and light, any way I could be
Although I am here, I hope my words confide
That if actions could be, I'd be there with you now

Soaring into thoughts unspoken
Chasing ghosts, and things unbroken
Finding devastation isn't always what it seems
Sometimes, what seemed just a notion
Lost somewhere in all commotion
Never really faded, for we feel it in our dreams
With every cloud we dance upon
As darkness flees before the dawn
And laughter comes much more than just a voice inside our heads
We bleed the words, we write the songs
With every right and every wrong
Until our inner muse is satisfied with what we've said

Why not the ******* who just robbed the old man at the corner store
Why not the lady who crack induced her own abortion because she didn't want a baby no more
Why not the gang banger who killed a man just for his name
Why not the dishonest greedy businessman who's always begging for change
Why not the creep at church that gets away with touching little kids
Why not the guilty pastor that knew about it yet acted like he never did
Why not the ungrateful mother that enjoys bullying her seed
Why not the evil grandkids at gravesites holding their hands out in open greed
Why do people like this don't feel as much hurt and suffering
Why does it seem my life is just a living offering?