one's hollow selfish cry

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I feel nothing, place nor pain.
Numb’s where I exist.
Empty, hollow shell in wane,
sinks in mental mist.
To and from, appearance vague
for direction of each thought.
Comprehension is simply plagued,
by more than can be fought.
No will to fight, subdued am I
my knowledge, a sleeping joke.
Breath deeply drawn, exhale and sigh,
once more, alone I woke.
Felt the day, in part and piece,
time stared back at me.
It also laughed, but then ceased,
the joke it could not see.

Fleeting smile, from one thought,
I swiftly sought its source.
My speed too slow, smile now forgot,
no point for its remorse.
A tear began, but then was gone
To what would it apply?
Emotions rain, was wasted on
ones hollow selfish cry.
The puzzle piece entitled "Me",
is grossly shaped and torn.
Picture complete, cannot be.
Thinks sadly it was born.
No real desire for the end,
I feel no love or hate.
No goodbye note do I send
The final sleep can wait.
Reality Slaps, sarcasm screams,
they’re felt and heard and real.
I do not run, and so it seems,
I care not for appeal.
Wish all would end in delight,
for mind and soul and heart
For now debate, a willful plight,
for camaraderie to start.
And be it that which can erase,
the hollow shell in wane.
So Time can see the joke in place,
my “End”, then grows in vane.

The answer?.?.?

I HAVE prayed, I have cried
exhausting my own heart.
Torn between, You Sin - You Die
and making a new start.
It’s all MY fault, it’s all MY sin
The negatives consume.
This man, there is, no good within
So why should life resume.
If all I do, and see, and say
are vane, to no avail?
Would blindness be a better way?
A course my life could sail.
Or deaf and Dumb, I’d speak no more
of pain of heart and mind.
Who’d want to hear, from such a bore?
I see...I’m not YET blind.
I want no harm, but do not get
when happy is concealed.
It’s always MY fault, and you can bet
Accept it, or never be healed.
If all I have to do is pray
Then why for one more year,
does my heart break every day,
and no one seems to hear?
“No prayer is heard, because you sin
and must repent/confess.”
“It’s all YOUR fault”, you can not win
“You are but rags or less.”
I wish not to be something more
Than just a happy man
Who isn’t heart and spirit sore,
from begging for the plan.
Am I to be, only me
No other in my days?
It violently hurts, oh to see
those possible empty ways.
The answer, to this mans fate
I’ll ask with one more tear
Not sure if no, or yes, or wait
The question isn’t clear.

God is God, and I am not.