I have so much,
	So much
	To tell someone,
	With no ears
	To hear,
	No heart
	To understand.
	I sit
	With my hair
	Falling out,
	My teeth on edge,
	My belly
	Hanging ever
	Heavier over a
	Too-tight belt.
	All the things
	I longed for
	Still exceed
	My grasp,
	All the things
	I have
	Are nothing
	Except bitter ashes.
	In my dreams
	I sometimes
	Am permitted
	To feel the fleeting
	Warmth of love,
	While in my days
	I deny myself
	Let me not blame
	Any other--
	The fault is mine.


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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