A Miserable Wretch

I am a miserable wretch.

They listen but hear me not,

Nor see my living hell.

They traipse on level ground,

While I must climb hills. 

I say I cannot do as they do ,

But strictly must I abide, 

Strictly must I conform, 

Lest I should suffer their cold dismissal. 

But I am the miserable wretch. 

Woe be the one who should cross me,

Woe be the one who should speak to me,

Should I say but a word against the usual,

I am a miserable wretch.

Kindness does not always beget kindness. 

Needles are my bed, 

Breathlessness my dreams ;

My sadness could not be real 

Nor the deep, dark chasm that is consuming me. 

My words fall on deaf ears.

Indeed, I am a miserable wretch

For they see not the struggling soul, 

Nor the struggling mind, 

Or the worn heart that tries to conquer, 

That which cannot be conquered. 

Forgive me for this at least, 

For, I am a miserable wretch.