Here it comes.
Its capacious claws of dejection,
seeping through the cracks,
to diminish my perfection.

I simply try to breathe,
But by the melancholic waves I am defeated,
Optimism is drained and slowly depleted.

I try to run, run,
I rummage through the rooted pit in search of the light,
My conscience longs for joy and struggles to fight.

But no,
Its on its route, around the bend,
Hello sadness, my old friend.

Why do I fail to accredit my own thoughts?
For you have told me certainty,
I assume,

I long for every final fragment of you're existence and place,
So I claim,

I know that I will fly,
Fly with the dread of suffocation,
Fly with the apprehension of regularity,
Someday soon,
No change,

But still I need, I need.