Analysis of A Life For Naught

Day in. Day out.
Each is a reminder of what I go on without.
Reminding me of what’s plain to see, while most seem to be oblivious.

An obvious observation for me to see what everyone else has in place.
Coming face to face with the realization that at this pace, I will be erased.
Erased from this world, but more so from myself.

What it means to feel and what’s really felt is meaningless to me as the hand I’m dealt shows to be more and more rigged, and as the emptiness in turn grows in wealth.
Wealth is what everyone wishes for, but no one specifies the type.
In situations like that, the universe sees it as an opportunity that’s more than ripe,
to show how easy it is for things to go far from alright.

As the emotional purse grows emptier
for everyone else who gives away their true feelings,
so too do I become more empty myself,
and my emotional purse becomes worse for wear as it starts to tear
from the sheer weight of all the baggage carried.

Becoming ever more heavy as emotions and thoughts continue to be buried,
hidden from view like a mess of garbage meaning to be cleaned before being viewed.
But I refuse to view any of it, let alone clean it all up, what would be the point?

What’s the point of wading through an ocean of pain,
disappointment,
hate,
and negativity
all for the sake of what?
An ocean bereft of the basic things almost everyone else around me has,
taken for granted as if it can’t be taken,
as if they were guaranteed to always have it all to keep them afloat.
While I go on in this tattered boat without so much as a simple paddle.

My handcrafted facade falls farther and farther as time goes on,
becoming ever more damaged
as the burden passes the threshold of what is capable of being handled by it.
I am no more than a lost child running from a past that looms menacingly,
and of thoughts and feelings that creep and lurk with mouths watering for the taste of defeat and suffering.
Buffering useless thoughts, and clearing the mind altogether,
only works so much as the battle continues to be fought and lost more often than not.

Why am I still here? How am I still here?  
Your guess is as good as mine.
It’s been quite a long time
since I’ve been given the grace of feeling fine.

Time marches on unforgivingly, uncaringly taking anything in its path in my life.
Strife doesn’t even do the true daily feeling justice.
A feeling words themselves fail to accurately portray or convey,
ironically opposed to what words were meant and created to do.
Every day that I live is merely another delay of what I feel is yet to come.
A daily reset of all the negativity beset by life unto the underprepared shoulders of someone unfit to handle it all alone.