I have a sad soul
I'm on a sad path
my mind eats itself
surroundings around me have nothing to say.

I am not cheered by good fun
and there's no fun in good cheer
my eyes are grey.

Feeling may be well enough deep
but my voice is monotone
there's not a charming bone in my body
I might as well sit on some old stump
and rot there with it

The upward contours that my mouth form into when socially acceptable feel as phony as I just described them
And I pray that I would be convinced
that a good night out
is a good thing

I'm not claiming that God makes mistakes
but life's maimed me
and left nothing but dry bones
and sometimes I think God does make mistakes.

I'll just shuffle along
with my dry bones and sad soul
until my next mental breakdown
until I am insignificant enough
to finally disappear

To write praises to God
that emerge from within me
is the ideal not being presently accomplished

Forgive me if my words are forced and shallow,
but help.