Finished.

Dear Whoever,

I am finished. I can not
take the torment any longer.
The words I spew onto paper
mean nothing. Taking the things
I give, getting nothing in return

I am finished with the half truths,
and the sinking feeling
that I am wrong. Not everything
I do is wrong. I give all I
have, nothing left for me.

You take and take. Nothing left
but a skeletal wreck of a man.
I have given myself. I try
to make you all see,
who I am. I miss the
feeling, that I felt while
I was strong. Talking
every night. Hours spent in
conversation all lost on one
mistake I made. Does it all mean
anything?

The feelings I have fall on
deaf ears. Am I someone
special, or just another entry
in your phonebook?
Let you in. Let you
feel the feelings
that seep from my mind.
Introduced you to the
ones I love. Have you taken
them or have they
taken you?

Fuck it, I don't care. Lost myself
in it all. A funeral, fist fight and drugs,
what a bad fuckin' night. I called
you because you would understand.
I called you because I thought
of noone better.

sincerly,
A lost poet.