where's the relief?
why hasn't the weight on my distressed chest been lifted?
I revealed the ugly truths, the pitiful insecurities
why?
why has it not paid off yet?
they say ' good things come to those who wait!'
with plastic grins and tinkling voices
that resemble wind chimes swaying serenely on a spring afternoon.
but my grin is crooked and my voice hoarse
(from pleading to whatever higher-power to give
me a break, just one break, from the
unrelenting despair attached to my essence)
and I say to them ' you don't know how it's like wasting away waiting
for a blessing, a stroke of luck, something - anything!'
my retorts, my feeble attempts at negotiating with the fates,
is lost in the chaotic and unpredictable storm
and my cynicism melts the plastic smiles off their faces
thus left with a warped view of the world
eternally alone with my morbid musings.
