Anon

Buried alive in a tomb, Wreaking havoc on my mother’s womb, Stiffened by emotion and a dwindling spirit, Screaming my lungs exhausted with no one to hear it, Self pity and inexhaustible shame, Dare I utter mine own name? Alive, Alive is but a word, Uttered in a tomb, its echoing laugh is absurd, My perspectives have darken, my outlook bleak, My tongue grows numb as kind words I speak, What is this fluttering I hear? Mine own heart stuttering with fear? Halt! I cry, why? I ask, Understanding of these happenstances is beyond my grasp, For I have defaced true beauty’s form, As a consequence, behold my forlorn, In the depths of my aching soul, Lies the contentment that escapes my sight to behold, For in my state, I swear it is absent, Drifting into depression I am hell bent, How can I be helped when I will not help myself? Destined for ineptitude as dust on an old wooden shelf, My words are empty, lost is the song in my voice, Destiny should never be a matter of choice, For therein lies the predicament and the wholesome blame, Destiny has made it choice and now I have no name.