The Path of Despair

Who I am and what I do: are those same?
It seems all focus goes upon my deeds,
Or the state of affairs that I neglect,
But everybody forgets all my needs.

Who I am and my own needs: are those same?
Or maybe I simply invent those needs
To keep me idly occupied with life?
Should I now begin to question myself?

A shady path, truly, this has become –
Too painful for me, and awkward to some.
Disturbed, am I so? I don’t want to know.
If I am to die, that death will be slow.

Though I want to live, I am too afraid,
I am too misled by my fearful thoughts.
It’s a trap of confusion I’m inside:
It’s what I want to show I want to hide.

No escape, confusion… - what is this fear?
What is this hell that has opened its gate
And thrust me into itself to appear?
How can I get out; and what is my fate?

Fate... loved and hated by many who think,
Rejected and wanted, all the same time.
If it is, let it be - I will not shrink
From trying to let it all just rhyme.

If I somehow escape this hell… then what?
Is there someone who will accept me then?
Who’s brave enough to accept my person
And never look for what’s my need or deed?

Who I am… what I do… does it matter?
Doesn’t it only matter that I am?
And I am alone; and thus I’m looking
For someone, for comfort, to share the pain.