Inside
I am bruised
I am bleeding
I am broken
Most cannot see it as they go about
It is not a physical thing
Except for the anger, sorrow and shame
Reflected on my face

The heaviness weighing me down

I engage in a fight, continually
One that I desperately want to call it quits  
Want to be rid of
If not for once and for good
I want to at least stop
And get a different perspective
To give it a rest for now
But how can I do that

When I am the true foe?

For I am the sole opponent
My own worst enemy
And the constant fight is
Within and not without
There is no referee
Who can declare a fair fight
There is no audience to cheer me on
To be the victorious champion
But only quiet desperation,
Wishful thinking and

Good intentions gone bad

For in this continual,
Almost daily match
Between me and myself
In the boxing arena of my thoughts,
This ugly, viscous cycle goes on 
Of self-inflicted pain and suffering
Quite intense, at times
Sometimes, at a low level battle,
But no winners are ever declared

Only defeat and indignity

So wrapped up in myself
Much of the time
When I want to be angry,
At the way my life is going,
Or mad at the often turbulent world,
For containing me inside it,
I turn around and
Attack who else?

Myself, again and again

Not able to get it together
The clutter in my mind
The clutter in my life
The fully needless
The utterly useless
The completely worthless
Things that seem to stick like glue
And do absolutely nothing for me

Soul consuming as quicksand

Standing so alone
In this battered state
I cannot point the finger at another
For any sort of blame
Not another person
Not at God

I willingly take the blame

Disappointed,
Disillusioned,
And often disgusted
At who I am
I truly don't want to
Live this life
With little hope

For relief or redemption

The continual yearning
For faith, hope and love,
That seems to slip
Out of my hands so easily,
I desperately want to grasp
With an ironclad fist
And never let go of

But they often evade me

Maybe letting go
Is truly my problem,
And the key to my solution,
In equal proportions
Yet I desperately fear
That in letting go of all the junk
That I'll be left
With nothing that seems familiar
Virtually nothing at all

But empty hands

Even as a writer
I know I could do more
A talent I wonder
Why I deserve
And am amazed that
Someone like me
Could capture someone else's attention

In any way, shape or form  

In my mind
I am the worst of the worst
A title that I don't even deserve
For disappointment,
Disillusionment and disgust
Define many a soul

Do they not?

And I only kid myself
That I do not share a common thread
With humankind
With many, many others
Who knows exactly what I mean
Who, like convicted criminals,
Feel imprisoned,
But without any visible bars
That prevent their freedom

I am way overdue in calling it quits