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SELF-PORTRAIT

(T. Beechey)



Sometimes,I sit in a crowded room

And overhead hangs a cloud of gloom

While everyone else laughs with joy

No one understands this boy



I searched for love,found only scorn

My quest for a rose found only a thorn

Am I a fool to make such demands?

This boy,no one understands



I'm only here just to amuse

At my own expense or to accuse

Of whatever fails or if I own

What another wants,then I'm alone



Alone in a world I cannot share

Sinking faster,deeper into despair

A mere shadow of who I formerly was

Understand this boy? No one does



Don't shed a tear,don't lend a hand

Those are my tracks within the sand

And,as winds commence,they'll fade for good...

This boy wasn't meant to be understood