I am hampered by the cold touch of depression.
I know it is because of the thoughts that wrap themselves around my neck, akin to a noose.
I am not truly heartbroken due to others... merely for myself.
I have caused my own pain and strife.
I allowed myself to be too easily swayed by false emotions.
I let my sorrows grow.
Fears and doubts nag at me each moment I exist.
I wonder whether all this is truly meant to be.
My mind and heart have parted ways, yet both can feel the pain.
So I grieve my own hope, my own joy, my own heart.
Even my words are lost to me now.
Black becomes dominant in the colours around me.
And the darkest music prevails over the light.
I feel as if I am writing my own dirge.
My lips waiting for the day I can speak it for myself.
But no euology can there be for one mans hope.
No grief or tears for a single persons joy.
No man will sit within a church for anothers dead heart.
Only the sky will cry for me.
Bleak winter has strangle the dying gasps of breath from autumn.
And it's icy fingers curl around my heart.
It robs from me the will to fight, the will to carry on.
But I know that this time does not exist for me alone.
The world cycles, and every soul is touched.
And yet... it may only be I who revel in this misery,
For I know that this darkness is the place from which I can touch inspiration.
The Nadir, the Lowest Point, the Darkness...
...But why to me can it contain so much beauty?