Music is my peace,
Was my peace,
I'm losing my passion for it,
I hardly had time with it

I'm forcing myself to play,
To glide my fingers over the keys,
So I don't lose the rhythm,
Practiced over two years.

My heart yearns to make a rhythm to sate,
my brain tires bored with the keys.
My fingers stretch with the notes they take,
but my mind is bored with the melodies,
I force myself to make.

I start in D major but I always end in the minor.
See my heart yearns to make,
But my brain tires,
A mix of external factors, so busy.
Thinking.

I try to rhyme, I hope that isn't what a poem needs.
Because the words that I spew aren't naturally Alternating or enclosed

For my words come from the heart and certainly not my brain,
Maybe I will get bored of this too.
I hope not,
Because this is my new peace.

I had a dream that I was powerless,
My hands could do nothing,
cause no harm.

My words were not heard,
No one would listen,
She was standing in front of me,
But none of my words were sinking in, and the man standing beside her was laughing

He got what he wanted.
Her.
And he's laughing at me.
The decisions I made aren't clear anymore.
The choices I made aren't clicking in my head, let alone hers
She isn't mine anymore

Maybe this isn't just a dream.

The words that spew out of my mouth yearn to be heard
To be sympathised with
As the words that flee from my lips print onto paper

These words that come are new to me
I did not know I had them
I'm glad I found them

For the words that are spoken, written
Show how I truly feel,
May the facts be right or not
Some things loud
Fewer quiet
Because the words my brain say crave to be heard
They come from my heart

They come from the place that rarely explains itself.

Maybe it's time for words.

To isolate is to be angry, alone,
But to be angry is too close to violence,
So why not be alone?

Alone is scary,
Alone is losing yourself,
Alone is impossible, but the feeling still there.

Alone and depression are interlinked,
A big word often misused as a funny joke,
That hurts me.
That a state so serious and personal is made into something so unserious.

Depression is a problem that feels impossible to fix,
you know its there,
It pops up from time to time, more often than not.
It eats away at your brain.
Feeding.

You don't know how to fix it,
or if you even can.
The help you need seems obsolete.
It seems impossible to actually follow through.

As in a state of loneliness it is easy to lose yourself.
That's what I found myself doing,
Losing myself.

I've been gone six months now.
I'm still lost.
I'm still looking.

But that feeling keeps on coming back.
More often now,
It's eating away at all of me.
I feel as though it will soon be finished.

But the monster is still there,
Looming, waiting for the next time to strike.

And I will be left,

All alone