Dear Diary,

Why does life seem to wrap you up in a cup of madness
then tip you out and watch you spill
the contents of yourself
onto a cold and muted tile floor?

Why, dear Diary,
does everyone expect you
to react perfectly in every situation
and robotically fix and tweak and mutate?

Diary,
I am not a machine.
I can't bend this way and that
at the same time
without breaking.

I can't smile a smile
that I don't believe.

I can't,
and I won't.

Diary,
You have so forlornly sit in the back of my mind
gathering dust and termites and grime
I can hardly speak to you at all
for my problems you cannot solve.

Just a lended ear do you offer
A lonely penance for my coffer
To spare a word a thought, some grace
to be able to pick up my forlorn face.

I look into the ***** night
so hateful and full of spite
Reprehensible rejection cease
as it knocks me to my knees.

Dear Diary,
I do plead,
Save my soul
or else I'll bleed.