The last term of patience has run out

The last term of patience has run out — My God no longer suits your taste. I will not beg for your forgiveness, I will not wear your doorstep down. Not trust my words? My counsel? Then what on earth am I to live for? Live by Shakespeare's sonnets? Hold lies and flattery dear? Or burn to ashes all the memories of minutes lived in rapture. Freeze in a moment of waiting — For those who love — they'll understand. All life's a game, and people in it actors, and each one plays their part. Don't build a Sodom and Gomorrah here! Leave me my very own pain! You won't enjoy its taste or smell, and to the eye it's not so pretty. You try to hold it in your stinking paws — "Leave it to me, it's mine, it's mine!!!" And I don't need your justifications, and no need to ask: "How are you?" I don't want fake applause — the embrace of a FRIEND in search of an ENEMY! Why barge into my soul with unwashed feet? Why carry my own cross along with me?!? Just calm my heart with these words: "No need for laughter, friend, just don't be sad"