I am greed, want.
She is need, lack.

I am anger and frustration.
She is hope, tenacity.

She is yellow
amidst the grey that I'm become.

But I am success, money.
And she is poverty, dust.

an empty room
I fill it
With my thoughts.
I get to thinking
About everything.

I stand among many
Receiving awards
Reciting speeches
I must win one every day
And the speeches change,
Like the wind.

There's never
any faces,
Not even
my own
Ain't that strange?

Just the
Splintered visions
Breaking through
With spears
Of emotion.

I guess that
The image
Isn't even important:
It's the feeling,
The sensations,
The prayers,
The mantras,
And endless dreams.

It's an idealistic bubble.
Which I could  
Live in forever,
But I'd never get anything done.

I get to looking
At my watch.
Only thirty minutes
has passed,
How can that
be possible?

I've already travelled
to the serene corners
of my desires.
I've dipped my
toes in lustful wants.
I've soared to
pinnacles of success,
In thirty minutes.

Then the perpetual
Smog of stagnant
English gloom
Returns to me
In my Utopic chamber,
Bursting my bubble.

I hone back
to the moment,
and then I
put my pen
Down to paper.

Fancy a bullet?
I can get you that

A nice blade to slit your wrists?
I can get you that

You want some company while you bleed to death?
I can get you that.

I can get you that and much more
Because i love you.

it is a post-human resistance to still-born meat,
the floccinaucinihilipilification of the catholic retreat;
another God disguised to look like me.

No drink or drug
could ever be enough
To make me forget
How much I loved.

My depression is a transgression
against me, and mine.
I never asked to be contaminated
with this strife.

My depression is a possession
of evil, of illness.
I never thought I would be
rife with highs and lows.

My depression is a progression
of good and bad thoughts.
I never wanted to be
violated with cries and lies.

My depression is a weapon
against all who suffer its woes.
I hope the afterlife takes this repression
and nullifies it's effects.

My depression is mine but
suffered by many. We are pulverised,
neutralised and modified by our own
minds and medicated to keep sated.

My depression is Legion
a wickedness to the self.
A circle unending, unbending,
curving toward suppression of oneself.