Like Pen on Paper

I'm sick of it all
I want out of it all
I want to have a different all,
but everything stands in my way.

This is only a poem,
never to express exact feelings
of what goes on inside
this burning pit of hell.

The lonliness of a thousand hermits
will never even compare
to what I am feeling,
I should be over the past,
but I'm not.

I'm stuck on the way things used to be,
riding every thought to the starlit moon,
dancing with the rings of Saturn,
an object so far away,
no one could possibly understand...
like me...

It's all falling apart,
friends are gone,
life is boring--
a routine I have long since gotten used to.

Where has the beauty and satisfaction gone in this world?

It has left me for dead,
never coming to greet me when it has the chance.

Why have I ended up like this?

Lazy thoughts,
stupidifying
wondering...
brain is never there...

I just don't have time
to live the life
wished for me in this hole called the haze..
I won't make the time...
--I can't.