So late into the night,
With weary mind and dimming light,
By dawning sky I dream always of my selfish indite,
I cry, I scream, I wish and write,
Write about all the things that are wrong in my life,
The rights, the wrongs, the harmony and the strife,
All of many things disparate and yet somehow alike,
To glance within only to be left blinded inside

The onus of stigma now upon myself,
Done unto myself, this is the enigma of my enduring wealth,
I am the bounteous betrayed left with little else,
Than a mirror to stare into, and find that one is not oneself,
Seeing the perfect infection in the depths of my conflicting reflection,
This dying health that comes with accepting,
Understanding the hurt that you weren’t expecting,
This bed I slept in is not my own and it remains neglected

Excepting oneself, now listen to the loudness of the hush,
The weight of millions upon my shoulders now being crushed,
The rise of the tide that flows with unrelenting rush,
The wants of the wanting now fall into dust,
I hear the screams, I feel the pain,
I see the hurt, I feel the blame,
I am but the whisper of a forgotten name,
The uncontrollable crying of the incessant rain

And so I awake in a boat,
In a lake of tears sourced by the very things I have wrote,
Ideas come and go with the waves as they flow,
Whilst I sit in my boat and forget all I know,
Passing people please pay no heed unto my shadow,
To be stuck here now is how it must be so,
And now I must be rote,
To relive this pain I sought and forever stay afloat