Pushed Aside With The Rest

How am I to be repaired when only I do the repairing?
How do I stop the feel I've never felt before?
Look up to the sky and who do I shed my rain on?
I'd weep on a shoulder but everyone's shoulder is full, filthy with acid.
I have no one to turn to and I'm afraid if I turn around,
The realization of my emptiness will asphyxiate me more than my tightened throat.

Every set of visuals I set forth is an untrustworthy foe.
And all the rest don't have the strength to lift me to safety.

For once, could there ever be a time where it's ok to rely on someone else's tourniquet other than my own without regret of failure?

I ask to be reassured anew and not feel the old blotched clots.
Because I can't do this anymore.
For I am but a child forced into adulthood,
All alone with nothing to prove.

I only know of one species to love me unconditionally,
And yet that has been stolen from me.
Still,
I slap myself in the face,
And prepare for the next day of self ridicule.

Because in reality, it doesn't matter.
I've made my bed,
Now I have to lie in it.