Words fail me. Thoughts fail me. Art is useless.
And yet we find ourselves subscribed to Fate.
But maybe all we have is neediness.
Which makes the sweetest caring turn to hate.
The gentlest touch will cause a snarling snap
And bring the harpies flying for my face.
What could have been a comfort turns to crap
And makes the worldwide web a crowded place.
Time has come to disappear in silence.
And see what months apart can mitigate.
I can't take another crash of violence.
Or wrestling others’ urge to dominate.
Your demons locked in blackest memory
Will never understand that I am me.