Not quite that cracy

I would never think I would pertain.
Temporarily was, my pursuit
To be sorry in all I went through.
Being damned, all my efforts in vain,
Of the being called being a none,
Which is being in some sort of gain
Could not cope and deliver the fruit.
Which is making the being of sane.

NOTE :

One will see the rhyme scheme of this poem almost fits the "abacadrabra". This poem is referred to on the blog hop of dVerse
| here |.