Every time I think I can make it,
Every time I think I can manage,
I break down.
There's no way to build a structure
on unrealiable ground.
You can't make a sand castle
if the tide keeps coming in.

I still can't look in the mirror
for longer than mere moments
without tears coming to my eyes.
Am I really that pitiful?
Am I really that sad?
What does my subconscious see that I don't?

Every time I make an effort,
Every time I strive to do something,
I break down.
I falter, and fall to my knees again.
I have lived this past week
on nothing but my knees.

Nothing I do seems good enough for me.
I don't even want to finish this poem,
because it, like everything else,
seems empty to me.
Lacking.