Despondancy

 There's so much to do

and so little time.

I feel like I'm dying

and worth less than a dime.

The walls are closing in,

my organs twist and turn.

My anxiety dances,

family looks at me with concern.

The deafening silence

made me want to cry.

I felt no one was with me,

no one to share the sigh.

But yes, there was someone,

for someone was my dad.

A man of few words,

his absence made one sad.

The feelings were uncontrollable,

thoughts vulnerable and irked.

Control meant power,

for now only disconsolate lurked.

Now was the time,

when the biting had begun.

I was afraid

that I'd lost and my sorrow had won.

Presently, it is not even sorrow,

it is more discomfort and discontent.

For I am too frail to admit,

I have run out of my happiness supplement.

Darkness, once my friend,

now seemed to betray me.

I am blind without the light,

for I have been robbed of my glee.

Will it get better?

Or will it aggravate?

I am sorry.

It is not my place to answer.

For I am tired of lifting the crate.

Hate seems like

quite the lancer.

I hope your problems get better,

For I can't say the same for mine.

Discuss your troubles,

or in private you may whine.

The choice is yours,

I leave it up to you.

My mess is mine,

But I sincerely hope you get yours through.