Engine of My Destruction

Dark poetry about feeling alone, and knowing it is yourself that causes it.

The sun beats down upon me
It cannot warm me
It cannot heat the coldness of my heart.

Birds flutter by and the wind whistles through the trees
All of this life budding around me
It does not move me

How can the living world move something that has no spirit and is not truly alive?

I look out at the deep blue of the sky
Thinking only of how vast and empty it is
Like my own soul.

Yet, still I do not cry out
I remain drunk in my stupor, relishing in my misery.
I am a masochist.

Each day another
Followed by a cold, dark cloud of my own design
Haunting me, a devil I have created myself.

My problems swallow me down like a leviathan
And yet, I put up no fight.
I sit and suffer.

I cannot escape, or I do not want to
Because I am afraid, or addicted to the pain of my torment
I am the Engine of my own Destruction.