Sympathy by Beau Bilbo

Sympathy by Beau Bilbo
Sympathy, a common train, for those who need it and desire it.
It's wheels speak of hollow-some meaning or an internal meaning to one's fractured soul.
Down the track it screams of formal helpings, to those in pain.
I,ve needed this, waited on the bench for some time now, each time I,ve somehow missed this train, despite my vigor or speed.
No matter the effort, to race to see who is first, or if I can race it, to make it.
I,ve had my times, of pain just like anyone else, but this time when I have fallen, I reach out to find that this time there is no hand, to help me up.
With weakness of my legs, becoming stronger, I can't do what I love and care about causing a disarray to form in my mind.
Drowning in my emotions, and suffocating, I imagine someone would help me or come to my aid in my desperate fighting to breath, but there is no hand in this empty air, only reminding me of the twisted fate my mine.
A Pitiful feeling is washing over me, as I try to fight the rising waters of emotional strain.
Sympathy, seems to always have a blind eye face towards me in it's despicable ways, ignoring my fractures, and cries towards the skies.
Do I deserve this? Am I really going to lose now? Did I waste my time chasing a pointless endeavor, to feel that artificial feeling of ''support''?
I am loosing the bindings, to faith and understanding, that hold me down, losing the ability to recognize why people cared about me.
What I am leaning towards, is a false front that seems to have ''Sympathy of familiarity''.
Sympathy continues to help, as it moves, still leaving me behind.
I can't take it anymore, what's the point to care about others, when you are already a dead beat, among the their so called social square?
I am on my own, building a world with my own imagery what sympathy really is, of my battered soul, it comes as not a pal, not an ally, more of a virus on my security of soul.
But without sympathy, what is the point to get up, and try again when you have no more options?