Depression, Disappointments, Poetry

The Disgruntled Melancholy Of A Librettist


I feel so unfulfilled.
As my life rolls around aimlessly like a tumbleweed,
I feel myself floating around in a sea of debris.
Never truly grasping what on earth am I here for
Nor truly grasping what is it that I have to live for.

I feel so unfulfilled.
As I walk in strife during my day to day life
I realize that every moment is nothing but a wasted time
Repeating over and over as the day goes by.
My dreams will never come true no matter how hard I try.

I feel so unfulfilled.
I’ve been writing poems and I’ve dedicated my life
To my passion and I can even say that it has become my wife.
But in the end, there is still nothing for me to gain.
In the end, all I truly ever have are my sorrows and pain.

I feel so unfulfilled.
As if I was a water that has been fully distilled
Yet I am still filled with impurities
That navigate through my mind as if they were invincible deities
Making me question practicality of my goals.

I feel so unfulfilled
Because my art goes unheard.
It falls onto deaf ears as if it was something to be abhorred
And no matter how many times I strive for more and more and more,
It seems that I will never hit my goal or even land some score.


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