Not Good Enough

Why can’t I put on paper
the aching in my chest?
My sense of inadequacy.
If I could have the years
wasted on my boyish pursuits
would I make good use?
Yet I still waste energy
on things that can’t be undone
and fail to live the now.
What a pathetic creature
that sits and self-deprecates
and that no one wishes to hear.
I’ve been tortured myself
by the waffling crap
spewing from that of others.
I wish I could be self-assured
like those who sometimes
take advantage of the weak.
Maybe instead live grey and cold
like an ancient statue
no one has to listen to.
When I think in 15 years
the mighty milestone of 50
would have crept upon me.
I fall to my knees in despair
and I cry and I sob.
My sticking eyes disgusts me.
No enemy could hate me
more than I do already.
It putrefies in my soul.
I wonder how awful I seem
to those with mightier problems.
Do they pity me or loath me?
Maybe I’m being egotistical
and actually no one could care.
I’m just another walking meat sack.
I don’t deserve to be loved.
I don’t deserve to be hated.
I don’t deserve an existence.
Each breathe I’ve taken has
wasted air that others could use
and instead prolonged my pitiful life.
When God judges me
I’ll have no argument.
Let’s hope I’ll rot peacefully.
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