Turmoil Of The Mind

The music blares, to drown out the thought,
That all of my struggles, they were for nought.

I can't believe that I fell for the trick they call life.
All it has brought me is countless strife.

I don't know why I do continue,
And much less why I'm confessing to you.

An Internet community, bound by writing,
While those who converse by mouth are fighting.

Why do I feel safe as I think in verse?
Is my rhyming soul some kind of curse?

Did I fuck up bad in a past incarnation?
Or am I just a devil's creation?

Why do I ask questions? Am I not content with my knowledge?
And why, just to make a rhyme, do I randomly use the word porridge.

I've probably ruined my poem right there,
But I've realised that I no longer care.

I'm writing from my mixed up and messed up mind.
I guess you could say I'm one of a kind.

Talentless, shy, and just another useless child,
Living in the Earth that my predecessors defiled.

I still don't know why I whitter on,
My audience is likely long gone.

But here I am, signing out,
And there you are, wondering what this is about.