Death seems more inviting
when lonely hours eat your soul like acid.
The heart pounds from the destructive force of stress of being pushed to quiet hours. You obey their rules. Just to be ignored and left to, slowly age, until death. Alone.
      You fight the feelings. You box the bags of self-destruction’s brutal control until your will is too weak to look towards any light.
    What is the role for someone in life? This mouse has run through their mazes to get his cheese.
     Just to find, at the completion of their sick direction, there was no cheese to be eaten.
Your heart starts to starve. Your heart is anorexic and weak.
Help is a word, from them. Never an action.
Being strange
You are unwelcome. The distant stranger.
Nights are empty, heavy, and sleep becomes a dreadful process.
Dreaming of things that are better than the waking hours
One starts to wonder. “is permanent slumber the sweet reward to a caged awakened hour?”
Work.
Work.
You try and you long for the reward
Of tools to complete your legacy
Your “light behind your name.”
Just as these tools are in your grasp… they are pulled out of reach by the corrupt and the greedy.
In quicksand.
It always happens that other persons only pull you half way out from pity.
Then the feeling of boredom passes into them over not understanding the thrill of your presence
They  release the vine which could have kept you from sinking in and drowning
They then walk away.