The Wine of the Lonesome

I’m crying again alone in my corner

I really do hope they don’t think that I am

No one wants their day spoilt by a permanent mourner

I hope the won’t help to decipher this anagram.

 

I dig my long nails deep deep into my flesh

I watch them leave their curved marks on me 

Thoughts of how my nails have helped me before are afresh  

Their renewal promise is a blood oath guarantee.

 

I don’t want people to know

Because I don’t think they really care

The unborn child of loneliness does inside me grow

Fathered by my foolishness, and nurtured by despair.

 

Why is everyone else fine?

Can’t they see my undying despair?

Is He not willing to take away this cup of wine?

Fermenting every year my heart is in disrepair.

This poem is about: 
Me

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