Reqiem for a dead child

The title sounds so tragic yet at the same time so romantic. I had read a novel long time back in which the main protagonist a female when jilted in love had given this as the title of her composition... and somehow this has from then struck a chord with me (no pun intended).

Maybe i should dedicate this title to myself as - Requiem to the dead me!!! That sounds nice.. guess i am getting morose. Its just that i feel dead inside. I laugh;I crack jokes; I smile when i answer people monotonically...but there is a part of me that stays detached;that wants to break free; that wants to hurt people so that they know how it feels when it hurts.

Somehow i feel used.Atleast a prostitute gets paid for services rendered. I am the punching bag. Need a shoulder to cry, here i am. Need someone to listen to u rant against the big bad world. here i am. Need someone to listen to your meaningless chatter, here i am. Need someone just to talk to, here i am. Need someone to shop with, here i am. Need company, here i am. Need someone to minister to you when you are sick, here i am. Need someone to confess or confide into, here i am.

But, where are people when i need them??????