Gentle, contrasting upon pages
Soft light holds
These words penned in
My hands cursive
As the dark of shadow surrounds
Drops fall upon
A page of recollection
Bleeding ink that spreads
Makes blurry
Why it is I feel this way
Lowest moment
Freely self inflicted for no reason
Why am I like this?
A need in me that I alone
Embrace to the end this way
Alone.
Wrapped safely in a dark room
Drops on the page.
Depression even when in treatment can hit like waves to the cliffs face. Almost self inflicted. Almost in some sick habit, I force myself to the place inside, below to the embrace. I hate feeling this way. I wish I could banish the path that leads me down to the misery I never earned and the torment undeserved. Why can't I be normal and prefer the light and love and warmth. Melancholy for too long. Something is wrong in my head.
