The Prerogative of Stupidity

This is the first draft of this poem. I feel like I should explain this before you read it, because its fairly intense, I think; however, I won't. Read it and see.

“How can you say that?”

I can't begin to explain

what went through my head

I'll attempt anyway. Failing. Misery.

I wanted more, “Was that so horrific?”

By wanting so very much more,

one gets less"deserves less. “Is that it?”

I feel the void of you, reaching out, needing to grasp something!

I know that some say I should HATE you

that I should allow this half-hearted fire to grow

into an grand inferno, damning my mind to rage

Instead I feel regret, “What did I do to you?”

I was as a child, I learned and knew as a child,

And I could have"“I must have!”

I must have wronged. Never you. I love.

I swore I wouldn't. I always imagine I don't.

Built in my genes, telling me to act like a moron

and pretend any person can be so integral"“outstanding?”

I cannot begin"or is it finish?"thinking

Thinking. Agony. Is my comfort. “Is that sick?”

I feel"safe in “mon petit mort”--this stupidity!

I grasp upon the lack, just as I want to grasp at you

Clinging to the safety of losing. Pity. “Pitiful!”

If I were the ocean, I would release every ounce

into the winds, I would become a hurricane

whirling in madness. Faster! Harder! Wickeder!

“Instead!”"my weak, feeble frame, sits and my eyes

get sore and I pretend they're just dry

I tell myself its been too long. I tell whatever lies

need to be sown so that you lose, and I lose

so that finally, I will think as I formerly did

about nothing in particular, and no one but myself.

Author's Note

I tried to use brief flashes of dialog to emphasize certain words or the emotions those words represent, do you think I did this effectively? And perhaps more importantly, what do you think overall? What do you think of the tone/mood?

How might you change it?