Dear God, The Only Thing I Ask Of You...

Has there ever been an emotion that possessed you?
Something that took a ravenous hold of you, and wouldn't give you rest?
Have you experienced the suffering that's always due
When life decides that your lighthearted self-undoing is for the best?
Do you, in all your doubting envy, condone it, rather than conform?
Do you assist it in its hungry glory and its infamous fame?
If someone asked you to hold an iron rod amidst a storm,
Would you all but exude an icy confidence in the rules of the game?
Does no one realize the darkness of the days?
The bitter sweetness of the too - forgotten ways.
Does no one find the light ever too brightly shone?
Does anyone remember what it feels like to be prone
To better moods, ecstatic, lovely smiles and comic charge
Which now have all been exorcised; the emptiness - enlarged. 
Have I been foolish then, to breathe a word of doubt
Against that which has taken me on a worldly tour about
The broken and the sour mind-sights, -sets, regrets ahead
Which lead me to conclude that frankly, I would rather be dead.
How could I loathe the very being that gave me breath?
The very nature of such a statement makes me feel less
Than worthy of a cause which, with contentment, would do me right
To ride a wave of cautionary guilt and put a righteous end to pride.
Have I no sense of shame, of ridicule, of common sense?
That I do dally in this treacherous and monstrous pretense;
Would you not rather build a house of memorial expense?
Than cower in a shelter of disgust, immorally outright and dense.
But I that hold the power in my grasp, to move and change
The course and run of my own hold, and limit the range
Of my expensive soul's most poor analogies for such a life.
For what a life it is, when all is spent in travesty and strife,
Gathering wits and scattering the crystal tears of my lonely eyes
Will I endorse such magnitude within these translucent lies?
Will you not scold me for bettering the worse,
Yet having zero casualty and swallowing remorse?
Do I pray that you will notice how I suffer? How I bear?
Why in the world would I ever pray to someone who isn't there?
He isn't listening, neither are you, neither are they.
No one will ever hear this, except for me, and only once I decay.
For in my overbearing flesh, and in the flush of life and breath
I humbly deny accepting the terms of this until my bed of death.
For only then will I cease to barter, care, or cry
For those who unlove me and refuse to answer why.