Poem: Why can't I be happy? Trying to logically rationalize the empty feeling logically, will this emptiness ever make sense...

I look for rest but cannot sleep, for sleep alone cant rest this fatigue.
So weary and drained I will not like, resembles a beast eating me alive.
I wonder why I look to substances to force me happy. Why cant I do it myself? I guess feeling happy and being happy aren't exactly the same. One is picked up then fades away, and the other is learned. Like a skill, being able to create your own happiness at will in any circumstance or situation. Looking to yourself rather than convenient tools and resources that must be sought and obtained, all in the end in vain...