Poem: The Lost Cause

The lost cause who wakes before dawn
ignored by even the fallen.
Haunting late blocks of convinience,
drifting like a wor nand broken robot
from point-a to point-a to point-a.
Remembering with bitter self-loathing
the person he used to be
when he liked himself.
Lovers who used to show him affection, for a moment.
"There's no way out," he thinks,
like the day before
and the day before
and the day before.
Wondering when the Universe stopped loving him
and what he ever did to deserve
to be forgotten.
Nobody knows what's wrong with him,
most importantly himself.