I Still Cry Poem by Timothy Long

I cry, I still cry, about the loneliness, its hard to try, most of the time I only sigh, the anger of unjustly suicide, the things you do will bore, like a deaths march to war, I tried changing, I tried to fit, nothing changed but my perceptions, I feel, I feel the wariness of unbiting loathing, like a robber of the night, sorry to disturb your tale, I stole this mind, the limbs, a fiery sight, unburdened by this accident, simply take life as it is, not as want, so many vices challenged, so much ignorance unchecked what's stopping the battle when there's free rain, what pain is passed on, who's sorrow is made worse, if not love, then knowledge, sad to fail at both, its warming to one their body is the world, death doesn't exist while I do, I'm in the world, changing times, changing tides, words are written the author can't grasp, wasting of grief, a slow bleeding of the soul, looking for a reason is no reason at all, torture, caring greatly, the words mock it so, such a blow razors do stain, hoses to fill the pain, it wasn't worth the boredom, nor the little action of bliss, sorry to say, I'm not as I once was but blindly still the same, most aren't good, what heard unsaid, never dead, I'm fried so many years left to waste, all in all, maybe in great uncertainties, life is just poor taste.