It won't always be like this (another depressing poem)
Updated: Apr 22
As I march to the beat of my own drum,
I try to remember exactly from where I have come.
My face fronts towards the sky,
Searching for god but only finding hot tears in my eyes as I recall,
The depths to which I have now sunk.
I'm okay but also, I'm not,
To you, it looks like I made the shot,
But you don't see me stop,
Every other moment to catch my breath,
Flinching at the creeping thought of death.
My soul loses its light, my body loses its fight,
I'm not sure what to do next.
The relentless pain makes apathy and numbness from my ire.
I don't know if I can push through another day.
My nervous system is on fire,
They have me strapped onto the pyre,
I thought my dues were done, but here it is again and the outlook is dire.
My mind struggles against this.
My behaviour both depressive and reckless.
Seeking control, losing it all, here comes the fall.
Why can't I come to my senses?
What was once strong is now slight,
As nihilism steals my soul into the night.
The sky closes in, no one is coming, no one hears me screaming and,
I tighten the noose.
I might do it, I just might.
Still, looking for slivers of golden light,
To show me the path, to make it right.
But that voice, that voice always tells me I'm wrong.
Tell me, I'm begging you, when will the birds start their song?
The deep-seated fear, it's been around for so long.
Is it the magician in infinity;
Or the joker, the fool, who pulls you along?