Frustration

Frustration is my life and life my frustration.

I wanted this path which I have chosen.

I craved for its taste,

Longed for the comfort it brought me in the night,

And I did yearn for its warm embrace.

Clawing my way out of this decrepit hole,

Only to merrily skip into an abyss far greater than the one before!

Basking in the beauty of my flesh made chaos,

In awe of the sweet scent of my decay.

A most graphic and crude picture I paint.

One even the most trained eyes I am sure would flinch at.

I am sure even the most trained eyes would agree I used the most precise footsteps,

to led me to my current state.

The frustration that is my life,

And the life that is my frustration,

Has led me to believe that confusion is a permanent resident here.

It has led me to believe,

That anguish, self-pity and loathing will always be a part of me,

And that I will forever cry each tear.

And what of this thought my friend?

What shall the happy ending be?

What wise conclusion will I draw,

That will allow us both to see,

See how I can make it right,

And maybe wholly and completely free.

But there you have it!

What kind of poem would this be,

if each sentence was a contradiction to the very essence of me?

What if I told you that these words have no solution and,

That in time is the only way we can tell,

If this life will continue to be my frustration,

And my flesh made hell.