The Hard Truth

I sit here watching my favorite ballet
Bending gracefully inside its frame within the wall
My mind taking a hard look at the meaning of my life

What good is knowing,
When you can't help those you love
Their alchemists toiling away
Pumping potion upon potion into their bodies
Only to find things unchanged,

What good is solving the riddles 
When the answers all say
They will always know pain,

What good is being alive,
When watching my mind break
Under the strain of trying to help them
Makes their pain worse,

The hard truth is,
As I sit in the warmth of the flickering red
I'm thinking about death.

Would it be better if they didn't,
Have to bear the weight of my
Failing health on top of their own,
Of course they'd say no,
But would they be right

Each time my mood swings
From depression to anger
Clawing at my face and pressing
My head against the wall
Trying to bang my brain into submission
 Before I hurt someone,

Each time I swing to elation
At finding another piece of the puzzle
Only to find no one listening
And starting the cycle again,

Is living really better for them?
I wish I had an answer.
For then I could do something
Besides going home and repeating
The cycle yet again

Mental Journey

I am on a journey of the mind. Contemplating the universe on every scale, and doing a complete introspective exploration. I may never be a literary academic, but I share my humble thoughts in hope that they may inspire others.

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