I have wanted some women so completely. I've desired with all that I am composed of. Yet, I come away with nothing. It takes a sturdy foundation of courage to need. I admire a man who is willing to beg a woman for affection and love more than a man who carries on at the slightest sign of disinterest. Our impatient lives are being wasted. WE're running through lifetimes and burgeoning a carelessness that only preserves the self. Such a shame, such a waste. Such a loss. How am I to be there for a woman if she believes she neither needs a man or that she has the time to develop love? I'm full of a bitterness that unravels with the days. I'm standing outside myself, watching a train wreck become. I cannot believe the events I have endured as well as initiated. I am ashamed of myself; my mistakes, my uxoriousness, all of it. I've begged for fondness from fucking idiots. Purely stupid individuals that wish for a dream. Reality doesn't always fucking suck, I've tried to be proof of such to some. Christ. I''m done with everything. The only real question my heart, my soul, the quintessential portion of my mind asks is why continue. And I am running out of reasons. To be real, the only reason I have left is the minuscule fact that someone may love me as I love them, someone may consider - with depth and gratitude - the possibility that two human beings together leads to greater passion than a life of singularity. But who among the wanna be pop princesses and reckless females would wish for the monotony of my unwavering interest? I'd have to be someone completely not me to even rouse the interest of a female; dry ice or female interest: I cannot hold either. I'm holding on to my self against my will. The weight of me leaves my cavs week. I'm burning memories to sustain eligibility for love. Yet all my actions are illegible for the common woman and both extreme types: the extremely lonely and the extremely extroverted. I'm nothing to all women, wholly disregarded by the species. Should I continue to watch their beauty and gaze longingly? To swivel eyes with breasts and asses, to hold my seed inside with diligence so that one day I may break free in the arms of someone who actually loves me? Excuses. Every reason I have to continue is an excuse.