I just want to lay down and cry,

and yet I really don't know why.

All I want to do is fly,

far away after I die.

Things are going so awry,

my mind feels like its finally fried.

Will I make it to July?

That is something I can't descry.

Feels like I am being ignored

as I sit here so sad and bored

and think that I might be abhorred

by the ones I so adore.

Sadness now is my award,

misery my one accord.

Will I ever be restored?

Or will I fall upon my sword?

I wish that I didn't care

for my heart it is stripped so bare.

I run my fingers through my hair

as I lay here and despair.

My life is a short opere

that ends with eulogistic prayer.

Can I even be repaired?

I doubt it, I am too impaired.

I guess it is all a game,

one that is so long and lame.

One without a single aim,

except for misery and pain.

So I'll just sit here and complain

for on myself lies all the blame.

What can I ever reclaim?

Nothing, just what I became.