They say trials and tribulations make for virtuous men,
and whatever doesn't **** you makes you stronger.
The more damage the world dealt, the more pain I felt,
the less I said, the closer I am to dead.

I'm restrained in speech. I'm not one to teach.
The pain I bear is not something I wear.
I wish it would cease, wish my mind would ease.
Wish I could openly speak about this disease.

I try to look up, but have no one to love.
Poetry is hard for one who rarely sees the sun.
I have nothing to say except good day.
And goodbye. I lie about being ok. I actually cry.

Am I forever alone? Sure. I don't desire a partner.
All my friends are dead or inside my head.
This life and this world make me want to hurl.
All the while my enemies dance and twirl.

But there's a glimmer of hope that is not lost.
I bet on it long ago, and haven't yet lost.
My hope is with the father, son and holy spirit;
I pray they can exorcize me of all these foul demons.

For there's a war on, that very few can see.
It's a fight for the souls of people like you and me.
And I sense evil in all people, it just takes time.
I prefer to be alone, what's mine is mine.