S.O.S

I read more today
Nothing had changed
Still the same old stuff
The desperation of needing affection
When did it not become enough
In what you write

There is a cry for help
And desires,
to be somebody else
Not so much S.O.S
As thinking about yourself

I read more today
And I saw through the image
And all the hurt
It’s obvious your emotions,
have been through the wars
And as the shellfire continues
You wait for the thaw

S.O.S sent for help
But rather than a desire,
to deal with yourself
you write dreary spite
that shows you lack touch
I wonder if S.O.S
Just means same old stuff