Pressed against my own lack
I extend fingers and rage against
Those who can bear the brunt
Of my burdens
The cold breath of feeling like
Nothingness itself poisons these
Quiet empty days
Void of love and faith and
The unrelenting belief that
Life is a gift to be unwrapped and
Savored when you are young
Carefree, and twenty-something
Some are old before they are born
Through genetics and through
Those metaphorical cards that
Play on the table like evil gods
Laughing in our faces and that is
Why I can never hate you more
Than I hate myself
On the days when I can’t
See past my own self-pity
