But have I not gazed into the deep dark abyss?
        Why is it that I cannot change any of this?
      I keep plummeting straight down into the chasm
        (and it is never, never deep enough)
                          This awful game I cannot play

One hand tied and gauze across my eyes
      This endless gauntlet
            Not that each blow shatters
                  NO, each jagged edge erodes

      (AM I in hell? I am Sisyphus–My soul crumbles—each time pushing my heart up this infernal hill
          —and still, still, too afriad of oblivion. I will catch it
            ere it fall into the Sea)
        Each time I find myself one step closer to the edge
          The raging waves clamor.
                                (And even as I fall,
                                    even as the breath is crushed [out] of my chest
          by the merciless law of gravity—I cannot scream—
              STILL I can’t see the bottom)
                    Is this abominable sense of falling all there is?

Do I really, in the deep dark recesses of my soul,
    as I toss and turn in my restless sleep,
Do I really plot against myself?
        In the black night, do I dream of throwing myself off of that desolate cliff?
fantasize of driving that blade deep into my heart?
(And though I fill the seas with tears and blood,
    this sorrow seems to never run dry.)

  In these last days (time passes and it gets harder and harder and harder to breathe)
will I be forced to call this interminable
    lonely emptiness happiness?

This cold flat silence the only thing I can hope for?
(To feel dead—is this the only way my grief will end?)

      Oh, I can gaze into that gray bleakness of my soul
      and spin imaginary tales of happily ever after
      Pretend that someday, on that day (that day
        that never, ever comes) I will all somehow be OK

      The atrocity of this broken life,
              that I am forced to embrace this grief
for lack of any other imaginable option.