Wretched

The wretched, ancient, achy back of someone over worked,

and underslept,

Unracked, by the unfallen tears that beg for release,

but the eyes decided are better kept,

Clove turned incense, smokes itself, in an unattentive hand,

Dropping ashes across the ground of No Mans Land,

Pupils burning in unkempt smeared make up and lack of rest ,

Something hollow lives in my chest,

Mind crouchs down in shelter waiting for the air raid siren of the not yet occured fall-out,

Meaningless conversations leaving more and more a want to scream, and I wonder what the sudden anger is all about,

Not hungry when I should be, appetite acting screwy,

I eat more because I know I should, or am bored, so sue me.

If you look to your left, you'll see a full on display of depression mateing,

But Remember, Boys and Girls, misery loves company, so don't look if you don't feel like participating.

Hey, isn't somebody waiting?

How am I supposed to reassure you, when I too, need placating?

What the hell was I doing?

And why do you look like it was my insanity I was proving?