Empty Court

No one seems to have time for me,
but for anyone else it's overflowing.
No one seems to be able to talk;
they're always coming or going.

Am I plagued with disease that radiates through?
Am I that displeasing to talk or listen to?
Am I that unattactive that they must save their eyes from such strain?
Am I so desperate that transparent's the pain?

I want to reach out and do for all,
but it's just me, the court, and ball.
I want to be part of somebody's whole.
I want someone to accept my soul.

Memories flood my head,
of pleasant things never said;
pretending everything was dandy;
knowing now it never can be.

Just take each bit for what it's worth,
and forget about my place on Earth.
After all, magic flows from my wrist.
Fuck this! The bottom line is

I am lonely.

August 30, 1994