Weakness and fragility,
signs of my futility,
yet no signs of utility
are coming from me now.
Fatigued and tired,
found with much ire,
as if cross-wired
with no function any more.
Thoroughly confused,
in and out of news,
piled with the refuse
as I should be.
To the side discarded
with no need to be guarded
in a sea never parted
away from anguish,
on a drowning ship
going down so quick
as the slow drip
now rushes in falls.
Efforts last ditched
with ideas pitched
without anything enriched
with any meaning.
Emptiness abounding
with nothing surrounding
but a chest pounding
with a heart soon to quit.
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