Unworthy of Love

I looked down the street and I was scared. If only I wasn't in such pitiful condition, I might've wandered down to the gay bar and mingled, but I had no confidence. There was a part of me that had no desire to be loved, that didn't want to have a chance of being happy. I should've gone down there but I was too pathetic to join their company. Disgusting isn't it? I mar my blog with queer ravings, then run away when a realization of those fantasies presents itself. I don't want to be happy but I can't endure the sorrow anymore. No wonder I think about suicide as often as I do. But I would never do that. Must be the megalomania: I am convinced that being a closet case would make me a success, but I am sure that the world needs me so much that I won't kill myself when I am in the midst of a massive failure. Breath is hope. As long as I persist I think I can eventually succeed. Indeed, I think the songs I have written lately would make a great album but who do I turn to? I am alone. My cousin won't even let me sleep on her floor, my friends I won't go near but they prefer that, and the cold is about to descend upon the Twin Cities, bringing another summer to a grim finish. I don't think I can take much more, yet still I persist. Somehow I must find a way because I refuse to let my suffering be in vain.