Weighed down by obsession
As the maddening gears turn
The hours grind
Urged onward by inner torment
As I foolishly race
Drawn to unmapped shores
Unseen by many and met by far too few

I yammer profusely
Colorless and hungry ravings
My skin frays
And still I scratch
Starving for the scraps
I’ve long implored to obtain

What good am i?
If I cannot emote
If I strive for the treasures
Withheld by distant oblivion

My tiresome flesh
Blares its painful dismay
As love deteriorates
And defiles the seeds I sew

Why carry on?
For the cold treachery of passion
Rearing here and there
Dragging me forth
To my lonesome fate
To my frail and sickly frame