Why do you weep, beautiful flower?
What pains exist within these tall, gold walls?
Why do you weep, bite your tongue and cry?
Several statues, medals, adorn these halls.

You excel at life with your touch,
Your presence makes the bravest shrink,
You powerful being, you make brave men wary,
In your company scholars lose their ability to think.

You set your heart to excellence and it leans into you,
Everything is in your hands, and you say it is not enough?
Insatiability is etched like a tattoo on your heart,

Mere words break you to pieces, and you say you are so tough.

Close your eyes and inhale your countless successes,
Youth and vibrancy are at the palm of your hand,
The places your mind has carried you, are mere stories to most men,
Blessed feet that have stood where the greatest could only dream to stand.

What is it in you that tells you that all these mean nothing?

Can your heart be so empty that it never will be full?
Can your hands be so restless that nothing would help them stay?
Thirst scorches your being, who really are you?

What is it you seek that could answer those damning voices?
Your greatest enemies follow you everywhere, mocking voices in your head.
Belittlement and insults have never served you any better,
Can you be kind to yourself instead?

Mirror mirror on the wall,
Where can I find the balm to calm my raging heart?
How many stitches? How many fixes?
They keep coming undone and threatening to tear me apart.

With great achievements comes a measure of sickening responsibility,
And I have to deal with a thorn under my nail,
A pain that never goes away,
Not one drink, nor one wrap, nor one pill, nor hail,

These treasures mock me and create a hell inside my haven,
All the goodies wealth can acquire, with an absence of tranquility,
Fleet of cars, awards and adoration,
They will never chase out my instability.

With shaky hands I find solace in the only gift I took from birth,
Oh there is torment in my soul yet only there can I find my reprieve,
Out there I put on a dashing smile,
Yet my words bleed pain I can not conceal,

My greatest treasure comes from the one place I wish I could dead,
Inside my head, hurtful words and yet words to heal, what a joke.
Still I let them pour and flow and drown me in their essence,
I'd rather they spill out and wreck havoc, than bottle it up within and choke.

©Hermit