wound

i'm not quite sure where to begin
maybe that i've always felt life as a race i had no hopes to win
and lately i've spent most, if not all of my days
with my sight barely functioning and my eyes glazed
over with awful apathy to try and mask
all the happiness or tiniest semblance of good that i lack
i've spent all my life chained and trapped up in my skull
that even the most wicked and sharp of pains feel dull
am i losing my mind?
maybe i already have, in hind
sight that won't let me see
anything past physical reality
anymore, i don't notice colors or details
my imagination, once large, now tiny and frail
and for some reason i still hold onto some vague hope
that one day i'll find someone that won't make me feel alone
but i'm afraid that the one i think of doesn't know
and i'm too afraid to say it and suffer a mortal blow
i just want to be able to look into someone's eyes
and without a word, be told that everything will be just fine
but as it stands i've decided to isolate
dedication can't hurt if you don't dedicate
and i'm not even sure if i'm ready, or if i'm capable, or even worth it
lately i've been feeling like a putrid sack of shit
like most people, i have friends
but it seems that the limit of friendship ends
when i get sad or angry, have any kind of outburst
as if nobody cares about how i feel if i'm not the funnyman, and that's the worst
seems like everyone's starting to leave me again
pack up and move on to find a better friend
and i've got this terrible feeling that i drove them away
with the things inside i'm too terrified to say
shaken down to my very core with these feelings
that i never speak of, which would start the process of healing
but i'm so unused to it, that i dread revealing anything
my only solace or respite from this all is the shitty poems, like the one i'm writing
the one that for whatever reason, you've decided to open and read
and i feel that by this point you might know too much, so i ask you to leave
but i also understand that i might have caught your attention
so i'll continue on, if you want to hear more of my self-inflicted condition
i haven't really known friendship until the past few years
and i'm trying to hold it together so hard that my spine tears
but i think i've already lost it, that it's already slipped through my fingers
i don't feel at home anywhere, and my mind is this giant blister
my lungs are these vile cyst sisters pumping horrid ooze
into my failing heart, the one thing not fully taken over by the taint
that's wracked my heart, mind and soul so hard that i should faint
let it take over my being, but it appears that for some reason
i'm more resilient than most, and have to endure it season after season
and there's no way to get rid of it, and i simply can't succumb
it's a pure fucking lie, every time i show an upturned thumb
i should have drowned in it by this point,
filled my lungs and rusted all my joints
i can feel the pressure against my ribs
so intense i feel like the cage might cave in
that the bars will bend and snap
it will implode, and send inwards shrap
null are the words that i say
idiotic is any attempt to convey
the things better left untold
stored in a hidden cellar and kept cold
since no words can give enough warmth in their attempt to cover
things that i should probably be over
but my head's a cinema and every time i'm alone it's a private showing
of every fuckup i've ever had, mistake i've made, all the anger and apathy growing
the aforementioned taint that somehow hasn't fully corrupted
like there's a wall in place that somehow interrupted
and left me with this remaining chunk of myself
that i truly wish i could knock off the shelf
have it shatter and be no more
but as it stands, i'm one giant festering wound that's rotted everywhere but the core