There is no I inside,
No consistent self through time.
I know that I am but
Don’t know who it is that is,
Who will be tomorrow, or was yesterday.
Sad to be confused.
All there is is nothing,
Like grabbing invisible wind,
Squeezing a fist-full of cold water.
Sad to be empty.
It makes no sense to do something
By myself for myself.
In relationship I take the back seat.
The other one’s life becomes mine.
Sad to have nothing to give.
I know you love me
But not always believe you do, and
I hate you sometimes too—but
Don’t leave or lose me from your heart.
I swear I’ll do anything.
Sad to be afraid to be alone.
Chemically alter my mood? Of course,
And every chance I get.
Sad to not live in my own skin
Anger jumps quick to rage,
And I hurt who I desperately love.
Sad to be mean.
No more dreams of who or what to be,
Not goals to achieve with joy
Like happy people have to live for.
Sad to have no future.
Self-harm becomes the norm because
It’s better than suicide.
Sad to daily decide which one.
Emotions twist and scatter, hop about,
Bounce about, smash against each other, or
Splat the sides of my brain and die.
Sad to be unstable.
Time is long past up for me to be:
Living unbearable despair,
Suffering extreme, unacceptable.
Hamlet’s answer the later.
Sad for loved ones loved.
By Larry Logan