I'm not feeling sorry for myself anymore
Though you may perceive it otherwise
I'm not wallowing in melancholia
As if it were the only drug
I'm addicted to
It isn't

In death, perhaps
I can slough off all these dead weights
That bar the entrance to my heart
That block joy and lasting happiness
That keep me from loving you
That keep me distant and alone
That keep the thoughts, judgments, cynical tainted observations
From mattering enough to mean anything

The responsibilities of life
Hit me too hard
I was too young
Forty years later
I'm still reeling
Stunned
But I'm not feeling sorry for myself
Because everyone carries a cross
God Himself brings the hammer and spikes
Just hanging around waiting for you to
Find a place to lay down and die
Nowhere on earth seems good enough

I'm not feeling sorry for myself
I'm just feeling sorry
Because for every moment of peace
Contentment and satiation
A fortnight of confusion
Despair and uncertainty

O, what a life