L-----A man named Me

I cannot write for I am drained by a man named Me. This hurt I am
feeling comes from him. It runs around my head and kicks my legs to
make me fall. All of this done by the light of the dawn. I am not a
writer, I am translucent. I feel but do not touch. I take but do not
give. My politcs are all within me now and I cant seem to find the
exit. Nothing takes its toll on me but for the sound of the knocking of
the door, I weep. Like nothing ever lived. Like I see noone but who I
want to see. And even then I do not see the whole. There are many men
who would give much to be in my shoes. A good home, family, education,
a yearn for lessons taught. Yet they who wish to be like me are fools
by their own right. For the mass of men lead lives of quiet
desperation. This holds no bounds to well-to-do souls. I cannot write
for I am drained by a man named Me.