And I think my life is bleak,
As I write three at night
And feel as high as a lead kite.
I don't know why it is I can't rest,
And its clearly not the best.
My thoughts,
they race,
Whilst Awake,
I pace.
Why Do I feel this want?
Why Does he do nothing but taunt?
And shows me things I wish to have
but had spared none but painful stabs.
I'm desperate and sick
And feel like a prick,
Writing my feelings into this poem,
in my basement while at home,
So few can speak words so true,
We aren't so different me and you,
But I have reason,
thou hast none,
You have happiness,
I've been shunned,
And you the other,
Thou had thy lover,
But thy time was short,
and spent with bickering,
and I laughed as the jester of the court,
and your loved seemed to be hindering,
Now you move on to another,
me still here without a lover,
And for three,
That easily can be,
None other then Mister Miss,
The one that knows the love of a kiss,
But I've not,
What's with this?
Number four,
All I say is more and more,
As a friend thou hast be,
I really really cannot see,
How hass you before me,
Number five,
The one who strives,
To keep the first one here alive,
The one who nows the bless,
of playing this hardy game of chess,
Were the victor only gains one thing,
To make anothers hurt heart sing,
Now Number Six,
Who's been hurt by words,
And not by sticks,
They said they would be here with the same,
But now they play the age old game,
In which I have had no name,
Its made you seem a bit more tame,
But to me this did nothing but scathe,
And Number seven,
Thou seems to make sixes heaven,
And this hurts me and my brethren,
Just to say,
For one through seven,
each has tasted sweetness of heaven,
And like in they say in days of old,
My domain is sad and cold,
And Whilst I lay in depths of hell,
And watch the others do so well,
Causing pain to seep in deep,
And my sanity I cannot keep,
At nights in which I cannot sleep,
I sit here and I weep,
and wish that I was not meak,
This all that I must say,
That on this lonely, lonely day,
I only feel just one way,
I feel this from day to week,
Month to year,
and as I am sure you do not wish to hear,
As I sit here,
I feel so weak.