I'm so tired

I'm so tired in many different ways the haze of madness passes much too closely for my liking peals of gladness stream in dimly and depression clings on grimly each obsession I procrastinate put off now far too late what impression am I leaving in this world? Am I helping anybody? Can I even save myself? often my craftsmanship is shoddy and the shelves I build share dreams lowly and haughty I have wrought them all from any material I can feel glass or stone, love or steel, being alone or trying to heal the path I walk is fraught in peril and wrath And this formless thing I try to write to express the tired feelings the endless reelings my mind on autoplay insert the media and slip away this thing will fall so short of the form I had envisioned as I make each flawed decision my selfish hope is someone understands and sympathizes with me in a pinch, pity will do  as every line will end with you and then begin again anew, renewing some old stirring feeling and it only provokes the tiredness that stokes my stretching apathy it soaks up every drop of me and wrings me out so emptily and I feel guilty when I pout for we've all got our problems some are rotting some are festering or, like an endless pestering consumes my views and haunts my news obtrusive dues are paid in the timeline we have made I find it's too bright in the shade the rainbow hews Mark Burton Wednesday, December 28th, 2005, 7:06 A.M.