My Name Is
My name is Loneliness, a mask I wear,
Faces surround me, but none see my care.
I surround myself with fleeting ties,
Acquaintances who hear my words, not my sighs.
My name is Fatigue, a weight I bear,
Work my only solace, a reason to rise, a purpose to share.
Without it, I'm lost in a haze,
Dragging hours like chains, in endless days.
My name is Disappointment, a shadow cast,
Each effort a fresh wound, each try a forecast.
What's the point of striving when the end is known?
Regret, a familiar ache, a sorrow grown.
My name is Misery, a shadow I carried,
etched into my bones by all the pains I have married.
I drown in fleeting comforts, in amber tides,
where sorrow ebbs and numbs what grief provides.
Each wound has shaped me, carved me, made me whole,
yet still the ache lingers, so I sip for solace.
My name could be Sadness, a constant guest,
Tears fall like autumn rain, chilling my rest.
Yet in this sorrow, I find a strange reprieve,
A fragile pulse that persists, a heartbeat I retrieve.
Copyright ©
T. Protus Thusi
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