So why. So
much torment and you don't see why.
Well let
me explain.
My soul is
forever tormented.
Any given
day I am awake still.
Still
unable to sleep
Too far
from reality to notice
Too close
to reality to care
What do
you do when you never sleep?
You can
read every book in the library.
Twice..
You can
surf multiple chat rooms and hear every story in the world.
Twice..
Visit far
off different places in the darkness when everything is closed.
Twice..
Easy for
any normal mans brain; but your not normal.
You are a
genius; a thinker, a writer, a poet.
No one who
understands
No one to
talk too
Alone,
always alone, so lonely, and you think about it.
You search
everywhere for someone who can make the dreams stop.
Or for
someone you can protect in sleep, allowing you to rest
You search
and search to find games and toys, lies and pain, other people’s problems.
Twice..
Sometimes
a person comes, and goes, they are good for you but not for them.
You always
deserve so much better.
When all
you deserve is sleep. Eternal sleep.
It never
comes. You can't die, you won't die, and you have purpose.
You have
compassion yet the world would not see it or give it in return.
A good man
with no lies and no foul deeds
You stand
un-corrupted, refusing the very corruption that pulls at you.
When mistakes
are made you pay for them
Alone,
always alone
And the
next day you are still awake.
You are
still tormented by images of the world’s pain.
A cruel
world where nothing is your fault and you can't save anybody.
What kind
of hero has nothing to save and no one to protect.
You work
against the floods and the fires.
You save
what little humanity you can.
You watch
TV for years.
The next
day you are still awake, Still alone, no one to help you, to free you.
You are in
a prison of pain and torture.
The
dreams, the dreams, you fear not the dreams any longer.
Now you
fear yourself, what you may become, so much potential.
A genius,
nothing to protect, every reason to cry but not a tear
You are
alone.
Tormented.
And the
next day you are awake still.
Then an
accusing society looks and your hands
They look
at your life and expect so much,
They all
have expectations of great potential.
Yet you
give them nothing. You are the tormented one.
It would
seem amusing to them.
The
accusing fingers blaming you for what they aren't
They could
have done it. They could have been there.
They have
all the potential.
But they
are not you. And they are jealous.
You have
everything, age and youth.
Wits,
wisdom and common since
You have
the education, you thirsted for and had so much there is no more to drink.
You see
reality so clearly.
And you
know they do not.
You know
why they do what they do.
It pains you;
there is no one to talk too at three in the morning.
While you
are awake.
Alone, so
alone
And the
next day you are awake still.
Tormented.
And Why?
You put
your hand out begging for a coin you freely have and give.
But there
is no one to return the favor.
You are
alone. Any given day
Awake
still, and I am waiting for you.
Tormented.