I’ve never had a muse like this before,
it feels quite nice I must admit.
Feeling inspired to write the words,
because there you swimingly sit.
You are flying here soon to see me,
because of this I’m feeling distraught.
I’m ashamed of my life or lack there of,
and what I have and haven’t even got.
I wonder what it is you think of me,
to warrant such an undeserved visit.
I can’t imagine meaning that much,
to someone and being well worth it.
The life I lead is void of one another,
and spent alone 4 days of four.
I’ve never been in this much pain,
except for yesterday and the days before.
When I dream of what you’ll expect,
it conjures up all my darkest fears.
It seems as if I have nothing to offer,
but all night talks with eyes full of tears.
There is no fun kind of sin left,
alone and locked behind the black door.
There once was a time with things,
but that time is no longer more.
It’s been years since I’ve owned a bed,
or wanted one to make and share.
The thought of ever having another,
is way to much to want or dare.
The daily grinding moments of pain,
that exists between the ticks and tocks.
Sometimes I feel as if they’ll stop,
whenever I look directly at the clocks.
I’m really just a dead beat poet,
rejected by all of my peers.
On the surface everyone smiles,
but underneath are only jeers.
I’m the one that everyone,
likes to know from a distant afar.
Don’t get too close they all say,
as they keep their closed minds ajar.
My existence is rather something,
I wouldn’t call it a livable life.
It’s more like a bad joke or add,
selling struggle and constant strife.
Every breath I begrudgingly take,
is full of hopeless and wanton dread.
The countdown has started from here,
when it stops one of me will be dead.