Compelled

I last updated this blog a week ago, but not much changed in the difference. Remaining in my unconquerable melancholy, my life seems static and passive: I'm waiting for something good to happen to me. I'll probably be waiting for a long time. I miss close human contact. I miss feeling wanted, needed, and appreciated; I feel desperately alone despite any circumstances otherwise. Every night is a battle for sleep. I talk a good game, but I want to quit on the stool like Kostya Tszyu. As I struggle to slumber, I feel like I continue to slip, no matter what circumstances arise. It's been a while since I've written poetry; I can't remember writing less than now. I guess I just seek too much understanding from writing, and I'm dissapointed in the results. I feel mute. Every day is a challenge to be heard: A challenge I never seem to meet.