why can't I be plastic? - 7:17 PM

where's the relief?

why hasn't the weight on my distressed chest been lifted?

I revealed the ugly truths, the pitiful insecurities

why?

why has it not paid off yet?

they say ' good things come to those who wait!'

with plastic grins and tinkling voices

that resemble wind chimes swaying serenely on a spring afternoon.

but my grin is crooked and my voice hoarse

(from pleading to whatever higher-power to give

me a break, just one break, from the

unrelenting despair attached to my essence)

and I say to them ' you don't know how it's like wasting away waiting

for a blessing, a stroke of luck, something - anything!'

my retorts, my feeble attempts at negotiating with the fates,

is lost in the chaotic and unpredictable storm

and my cynicism melts the plastic smiles off their faces

thus left with a warped view of the world

eternally alone with my morbid musings.