Pessimist
Disregarding
My sentiments or what I fancy  
A quailty of life
That doesn’t seem to hold firm
Ailing me along
Day or night
The object
Not of my desires
X marks
Thee spot
Never ending patterns
A montage of seasons
Like a unsolvable riddle  
Can you tell me
Where exactly I’ve been too lately
Never receding  
Rarely forgiving
******  
A mercenary for hire
Cursing profanities
The outside noises
Pale in comparison
To thee whispering hollows
Of my wicked garden
Perfect illusions
Far from desirable  
More like complacent pillars
Seldomly comfortable
In my own skin
Your opinions
Pale in comparison
To my point of view
In the vacuum of my mind
Deconstructing unrelenting
In irrepressible amounts of guilt
Why can’t I feel like myself
Why must these false pretenses
Flare up
Hold me in positions
That aren’t up to par
Continually stuck in neutral