Loving her is light work.
I was just bred into a fighter's temperment.
I want to be like the father but couldn't capture it.
Instead I'm more like the sins of my father.
I carry more than his likeness. 
Who could sit with me while I fight this?
My guardian angel standing tight lipped. 
No hell could punish me more than the turmoil I purposely survive in. 
I watch sunrises with no sleep. 
My mind betrays me. 
I paid too high a tax for dancing where the light can't reach. 

Silent and Solemn, whilst staying glued to my problems. 
The pen ink dissolving into the page is my solvent. 
I'm at a loss of friends since I lost the friend that held me accountable. 
Can this hurt be refundable?