Inhumanity

It's been a spell since I've felt like death.

Like every waking moment is a waste of breath.

I'm tired, my body is weak and frail.

I've spent years looking for my female holy grail.

It's been a waste.

All that time spent searching for an illusion

My body filled with hate and my heart with confusion.

Why this pain?

Why this sadness?

Is it fair for the broken to be riddled with madness?

I want to cry.

All this time,

I've defied,

My "happiness" has been a lie,

So now I die,

Deep inside,

Despair like corrosion in my mind.

Surrounded by people pushing their ideals down my throat.

My dead body lies like a murder he wrote.

So a question is what I pose to thee,

Those who are anguish and heartbreak free.

How inhuman do I have to be

To say that a broken heart doesn't hurt me?