This Poem Has No Title.

I just don't know what's wrong with me, or why I always fail.
If they imprisoned men for losing, then I would be in jail.

There was a time when I was a winner, and people thought I ruled.
Like that time in 3rd Grade when I sang Ghostbusters in school.

I reached my peak a long time ago, when I was too young.
I thought I had more songs to sing, but I guess they've all been sung.

I almost won recently, but then I went and blew it.
I was on top again for about a month, but it was over before I knew it.

I thought that I was doing well, that I could make it work.
But my Angels lost and my Demons won, now all I have is hurt.

I have things to keep me distracted, like some kick ass Star Wars stuff.
But they can't plug that hole in my soul, so it's just not enough.

I sometimes feel trapped and lost in my worlds of fantasy.
Because I want something more, and I yearn to be free.

But reality offers no rewards, only truth and pain.
It might be better to stay lost, if it means keeping sane.

I used to shine so brightly, when I was known for laughter and song.
But the flame that burns twice as bright burns half as long.

How fragile is that flame that burns to light each passing day?
I feel mine flickering in the night, and I fear it will go away.