So sick,
sick of the torment
the shattered fragments
of words spit
from momentary rage.
So sick,
sick of the silence
the endless dialogue
running through my head
to find nobody around
to hear me out.
So sick,
sick of the lack of
nothing being enough
the void between where I am
and where I want to be.
So sick,
sick of the questions
the continuous banter
that means nothing.
So sick,
sick of the *******
the tiresome surface
which rarely divulges,
more.
I want more, more,
but wants shall not be received.