Unreachable

I often feel worthless and without a cause, the things that I live for are vague and unclear. My critics know my vices and my fans barely know me, a curtain I keep closed and veiled.

A stalwart at nothing and a pawn to be sacrificed, I feel as though it is all I will be. An agonized slime on the underbelly of existence is the crest that I brandish for those who get close. 

To let others see the dank catacombs of me is a deep inward terror I can only allude to, it's haunts me in places I don't understand. Judged, condemned and sentenced of exile is all I feel worthy of in the recesses of me.

The second hand scent of tranquility and love waft through my days with indiscernible intention, falling from grasp and down into sewage. Peace is a song that I've heard once before but I can't recollect enough of it's rhyme to remember. 

Sorrow is something I keep nestled close, not wanting the judgmental stares or attention of those who would claim I'm insatiably selfish. All I desire is a restless night's slumber without voiceless voices listing all of my shames.

Forgiveness is for others and given by me but silently I sense I am damned. For my inwardly my hollowed grins mask a macabre chorus singing my funeral chant soon to come.