The Tortured Soul

Trivial expression to most But the reality is so morose Years go by daily Days pass with those hours Time the worst enemy I have Thanks be for mortality The irony that a tortured soul Can go on and on forever. Starving artist a joke to most Starving not only for sustenance But fulfillment of the soul The tortured soul starving for Something that cannot be named Or if given a name Would be to hideous to utter. No solace to be found Depression is literal A deep gash or void Of the inner being A hole in the brain That festers with infection Cures, none to be found No pill can relieve A damaged thing born good Wrapped in the arms of loneliness Even as a child. Temporary fixes can numb The lack of emotions One can mimic them all Happiness, joy, sadness, despair In the quiet endless hours of night The tortured soul ever present Always restless, only friend, Your nemesis, how ironic That love.