In this Coffin

And in the end, there's only me
Same young me, hot over cold
Never sullen, gloomy, broken, but
Always so.

Caress my heart and you will find
that it is hard.
Nothing, but an empty box on the kitchen bench

And in the end, there's only me
Alone again. Inadequate. Frustrated.
There will be only me, as year stacks upon year
Only me
Lying on the soft bed of soil - damp, moist, dark
There will be no comfort. There will just be me
And all my inadequacies -
I could not list them here.

The obsessive's frustration, the frustration of inadequacy
Sticks like cold oil on a countertop.
Drip, drop
Drip, drop
Pools and ripples off the benchtop.

Like clockwork, it says its goodbye -
Ready to come back to another night.

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