I am lost,
I am alone,
I feel no other,
I feel nothing but pain.
Who am I,
No one knows,
No one dares tell,
I could try many times and never get it right.
I feel a certain way,
Unlike I know anyone else to feel,
This knowing gives me power,
Useless in my position, the power withers away.
Those in the position,
Draw from within a source all their own,
What was put there was for them to discover,
Same here.
I am only a lonely conscience,
Adrift in a sea of roaring morality,
Noises buzzing all around call my attention,
I seek it as well.
I know myself now,
In truth I always have,
It's a knowing I've returned,
For I have made no use of it.
I feel as though I am nothing,
Never was, nor ever will be,
Except soon that nothing will be larger
I'll fall into a hole I can't get out of,
This I know to be certain.
This nothingness doesn't hurt,
It feels no way at all,
If I could give it to you,
Well then you'd already have it all.
Since I am alone,
But one among the plenty,
I'll leave a bit of myself here,
Tattered papers barely legible, I'll be.
-Patrick Dejour II