I have failed often, repeatedly.
Spared so much time from usefulness.
Wasted deep thinking, foregoing effort.
Dwindled years into ashes, without fire.
Hidden from view, from adventure,
Lost in a hazy mind, like the dense fog
that hangs above a bog in spring, ominously.
Wandering within lucid dreams, escaping.
Desiring only to feel something, fully.
Needing nothing more than to be seen,
to be heard.
Trapped in a chasm between times, survival.
Waiting in an invisible queue, no service.
Wondering why, and how, and who.
Pleading for freedom from all, binding.
Uncertain if hope will reign above the hate,
that bitter pill,