I only ask what I did to deserve

The walls built up so long in my past, break open. I am an enigma only in regards to the reasoning of things I do. Trusting so perfectly, and when the knife is pulled from my heart, I only ask what I did to deserve it. I am naive to the world, even jokes told in jest seem to fall short of my understanding.

I need to become callous. If such a thing is possible for one of my kind. Sever the connection of emotional complexity that I hold dear. Destroy the tenents in which I believe and strive for. Burn to ash all the memory of greater love's and reasoning. To rip these thoughts from my mind, never turning back but yet moving forward.

I found a cause that I could believe in; yet pulled from my grasp I sat there in the perfect world I created, my mind an blank parchment. How I longed so greatly for someone to be the brush in which to paint my universe with. Adding color to the drab landscape and inspiration to the gray shadows of my solitude.

I try so hard to please everyone. Make them happy and know they are wanted; cared for. When my soul cry's out in an effort to offer wisdom to stop the suffering of another; never finding just what words are needed. Can there a cure for such a disease? In which all that I am is in agony. I am on fire yet no water can quench this burning. The patron saint of lost causes, is the one whom I offer my prayers to.

A cacophony of storm clouds reside in my heart, never yeilding the rain needed in which to grow.