This Is It

I gotta get it out.
It seems this is all I have.
I can't afford a shrink so
This is it. This is what
Needs to save me from me.

I am always repeating the themes
That seem natural to write about in
Poetry: love, or the lack of, death
Or dying from lack of love, pain and
The pain of lost love or the lack of love,
Dreams and broken dreams, unrealized
Dreams that haven't been slept on to
Have - must find a reprieve from my
Reverie - revel in its rambunctious
Revelry and round out my rancor with
Randomness and respondency - no
Despondency... it must be the fibro-
Myalgia of my heart that beats the blood
That carries the pain to all of my nerve
Endings in my life - that make even
Reading this painful because nothing will
Result from getting it out and broadcasting
The aches and pains that come from living
In this fallen world - nothing but more
Groping for hope and faith will come in
Torrents, torrentially - yet sheltered from
It by doubt, fear, anger and heart break.