I am just a voice,
a name you can't remember,
an easy choice,
to dismember,
my vital *****,
for I am nothing more than,
a crazed fan,
this unnamed man,
that sits and waits,
for some recognition,
filled with fear and hate,
at his position,
caught in lust,
what love was before,
has turned to rust,
nothing more,
a tainted chalice,
which I still drink from,
our empty palace,
that we built upon,
the ruins of a relationship,
the hands that loosen grip,
that held so tightly,
the soft words spoken nightly,
from my heart outpours,
for this lost cause,
not in action,
more like fiction,
a romantic novel,
buried with a shovel,
in my hearts coffin,
so all thats left is,
fear, failure and nothing.