Incapacity

All my misery,

All my restlessness,

All that exists when the Sun shows up or slips away,

All the madness that grips me as I write,

All the frustration,

the muffled screams,

the jaw-clenching anger, rage, and stupidity I feel while reading,

All that painful ticking in my dusty room,

All those corroded strings I strum with feeble hands,

All my pain, remorse, and dejection,

All my fears, dreams, and dramas,

All that is sour, all that is violent,

All that makes me cry — not visibly, but somehow,

All that is dead, rotten, torn apart by the creator,

All that is stale, dark, gloomy, dingy,

And all that is sad,

Comes from just one of my deepest incapacities —

To sit alone, silently, within those beautiful walls.

- ak