Despondence Note

I’m sorry I got that question wrong.

I’m sorry I can't move on.

I’m sorry I'm not smarter.

I’m sorry I couldn't be stronger.

I’m sorry how I take on as much as I can

only to screw it all up.

And I’m sorry I couldn't find the man

inside my empty cup.

I’m sorry I waste my time away

trying to find a dreamy way 

to happiness

when of course,

there's no such thing.

I’m sorry I don't talk much anymore 

or that I let on how my heart is sore

from all the roughness

and how it keeps beating 

without a source.

In fact, I must confess,

I am dying under boundless stress.

Each day my depression attacks,

reopening these countless cracks.

So many times have I walked this hall

feeling so weak and so small,

bracing for a final fall

just waiting till my lifeline snaps,

like any second I’ll collapse,

but of course I never do,

I know better than that.

But if I were to give my final words today,

this is exactly what I would say.

But that I won't undergo

I suppose you’ll never know

how sorry I am that there's nothing I’m on top of

and for dormantly letting endless piles of work tower above.

And how I’m sorry for caring more than I should

and letting myself be so consumed.

I’m sorry for impeding the impedeless

and for hoping in the hopeless.

And finally,

most especially,

I am sorry 

for wanting to be so important 

and that I became nothing but torment.

I am sorry for wanting so hard to be heard

when it's clear I’ll only ever come third.

I’m sorry for thinking I could matter 

or that I could make things better.

I am sorry for believing 

that I could amount to anything 

at all.