What I offer to this world, this word doesn’t want.
That it’s been such a struggle is more than a clue.
How does it all affect me? My bowels are a mess.
I’ve made light of my issues, but now I confess
That I don’t have an inkling for what I should do.
I came with a few talents, but nothing to flaunt.
As it seems, the dark cloud hangs not over my head.
I am fully engulfed in it. None can I see
As a source of fulfillment. I cry right out loud…
Have I done anything for which I can be proud?
When the sole benefactor turns out to be me
Then it makes perfect sense that I’m better off dead.
But, of course, what seems obvious a remedy
Is a thing that society deems as unfair
So much so, it’s a crime among modern-day folk.
It behooves me to see I’m the brunt of a joke
Of profound insignificance. Shocked in despair,
I shall keep on expressing ‘til I cease to be.