I lie here, waiting
Each morning, every evening.
Waiting for a word, a message,
Even a mere warning.
I lie here, waiting
Forlorn, and weakening,
The deafening silence
All consuming.
My subterfuge
Of being whole
Is but a mere attempt
To hide the fresh wounds.
Wounds scathing not the flesh,
But the heart and the soul;
A death that seeks those who are
Enfeebled by false hopes.
I watch as this sordid world
Continues to turn, mocking
My measly existence,
My negligible presence.
I watch helplessly,
As there naught anything else
That my solace can afford me
But a window to watch the world.
I walk this ragged trail each day
To join others and their masks
Worn to conceal tears shed
For those, like me, who have come undone.
Undone by the chaos of this world,
They are.
Undone by the despair that has consumed all hope,
I am.
