Lucky

Sometimes, you cry. No, not cry. Beg. Sometime you beg for help; for support. For anything resembling support. For hope. For something in the neighborhood of love, even if it misses it by several blocks. Just a little bit of something resembling love and help. For something you have never really had. But it doesn't come. It doesn't come because you are so damaged that you don't even know how to find it. You don't know how to set yourself up for the very basis of what you might need. You don't know how to lay a foundation. And all you have ever really needed is a foundation. What a terrible Catch 22. And people don't understand why people commit suicide. Uh. Because of that terrible Catch 22. Because of old deep pain that never resolves itself and then the terrible choices you make after that that don't give you what you really need; even when you have enough self awareness to beg for it. Beg. Like a pathetic child. And that's what you are, isnt it? A pathetic child begging for help and shelter and a little peace. Ever elusive love.