Purpose,
satisfying, glorious purpose
swells my heart
until it's
brimming,
bursting,
and begging to
overf
          \l
            \o
              \w
onto a page.
...
What
do I do?

Where
do I start?

How
do I direct this
bundle of
raw motivation?

How
do I mold it,
shape it
into a helpful,
useful format,
and
point it in
the direction
I
want?

How do I
use
it?

There is a phantom man
With a crimson hand,
Breathes the chill of doom,
And carries a bag
Shaped like the crescent moon.

The living never feel the bite of his breaths
Their own breaths continue when he causes their deaths
His maneuver goes unseen, as it affects
Us who frown often,
But we feel the effects.

I noticed as a child
How he snatched the verve of adults who'd smiled.
They betrayed in their knitted brows
The years of attrition
From being smitten down.

With these tasks to accomplish,
He employs an accomplice
Or several he'll send
—Whether friend or stranger—
Till the task meets its end.

One once came then flew on the run,
Just went I thought her job was done,
He went and sent another to claim,
The remnants and dregs
Of what might remain.

This world keeps beating and pounding my soul,
Seems I alone know this phantom man's goal,
But why others support his cause I don't know;
Now his bag drips with blood,

Because I lost my smile many years ago.

I feel bad about the moods I've been in.
I've noticed you're trying
which makes me smile again.

Everything is so heavy,
and it's hard to stay sleeping
(at least during the night,)
I lay awake reading,
absolutely anything that I can find.
To keep my mind occupied...
and I'm sorry.

The more I recall the
things you ranted,
the more angry I feel towards you,
and all the less enchanted.

What am I
To a million people
Whose names are numbers
Waiting to be counted?

What am I
Other than a mispronounced name
And a character of no value
Who often becomes forgotten?

What am I
Aside from being a drunken thought
Whose name you scream
And whose heart wrenches at your drunken sight?

What am I
When I become frustrated
At how much I love you
But can't find the right words to say?

What am I
To you
When all I've ever been used to being
Is nothing?