The Vapid Me Poem by oliver craven

What once was cathartic,
Now as it seems,
Has lost all its luster,
Succumbing to dreams,

The waning of slumber,
From battles not won,
My bellicose nature,
From things I've not done,

Paradoxical rantings,
Of shortcomings rave,
A love long forgotten,
Too tainted to save,

With apathy steady,
I welcome the nigh,
And stray from composure,
Too poignant to try,

Bliss goes unspoken,
In my life so contrary,
My mind remains broken,
From this cross that I've carried,

Unknown to others,
Familiar to me,
My delicate balance,
Of enslavement and free,

A slave to my fears,
I crawl all alone,
Surrounded by silence,
In a world my own,

Vapid is me,
Loveless, and dead,
An exsanguinate husk,
Broken, misled,

Loquacious are they,
Whom reside in my mind,
Wailing and gnashing,
Stalking behind,

Fervent in hatred,
But how can it be,
The voices I'm hearing,
Are versions of me? ...