I am sorry...

I would like you to know
How miserable I feel,
For not knowing the answers to your questions
For not knowing the purpose of myself
I would like you to know
How sorry I am,
For not letting you see the real me
For not letting you leave

Perhaps, it’s my sketches
And perhaps it’s my paintings
And perhaps it’s my poem
(fucking each other)
cursing me for I am a dead artist
and they, my memories
I feel sorry, and I feel miserable
It’s not about anyone else
It’s only about me,
And when I write, no one can understand me
It is best that it’s left in the hands of that greater being
And it is best that you never come to know me

One always wonders,
What did I do to deserve this?
What they don’t question is,
No, there should be no questions
I am a fool to even think of any question
I am sorry...

02-Sept-2006