A Letter of Depression

Pictures of love all around me and I can barely breathe.

Can barely see past it.

Dying inside. But no one sees.

Am I just loneliness? Thrown together to be nothing but a vastly different person than I wish to be?

It is a curse sometimes to possess intelligence.

To be creative.

To possess consciousness.

To also be so out of control.

So wild and imaginative and sometimes daring.

Bold even and beautiful

A beautiful horrible sloppy mess.

I'm trying to breakthrough.

To find Me.

Even though Often I see myself.

In mundane things. In my mind always.

I'm not sure what it means.

I'm being mimed to with absolutely no understanding of the map it wants me to follow.

Whatever purpose I'm here for I need a break from the riddles.

I need a life worth living.

My despaired heart yields resentment.

If I'm to move on I have to wash away my bitterness.

Open my soul and step out of the forest.

How easy that sounds on paper.

Nothing in life is easy, only dying.

The worst is the more love I'm surrounded by the more I see my absence of romance.

It is maddening.

I feel surrounded by madness instead.

Completely broken.

So Much so that people around me may flee because I was scarred with this incompetency.

To love or be loved, or so it seems.

This is not how I imagined my days.

Not after I was offered a heart, an everything.

How unfortunate it is to love someone and lose them completely.

So suddenly.

And now we brandish only harshness and cruelty.

It is silly to ponder for it is lost.

So I will move on no matter the cost.