Piece of my heart

I'm just fed up with myself. I hate that I refuse to sit still and empty my mind of all manners of thought. I hate that I've become so impotent, been reduced to sterility. I hate that something in me won't ever give up. I hate that as a person I have to constantly do and can't ever just be.

And why? 

The agony drags on in my mind so much so that I am no longer free. 

If freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose, why am I not free? 

If all I'm to do is pick up the pieces and move on, why am I still singing take a little piece of my heart? 

I've never looked so contemptibly at myself as I do now. 

Ah, how we have fallen! 

So dark. So old. So sterile.