i need that paroxysm
that little jolt
that single spark
for me to feel again.

i hate to admit
i would sound
desperate
and needy
but i need someone.

i don't want just anyone.

but i don't know
i really need one.

there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it's too late
and there's nothing worse
than
too late.

there's a lot of questions
regarding my heart
that remained unanswered.

is it made of fragile glass
or strong diamond?

is it fixable?
hammering nails
and drilling screws in
or we just glue it all back together?

what colour is my heart?
definitely not white.
is it red?
jet black?
or merely grey?

is it beating
or maybe sound i've been hearing
were the marching parade
to respect the death of my heart?

is it broken
or it was never complete?
but then *if it's broken, how can it still beat?

they told me that
i am a pessimist
that i should wear
my positive hat
and not think of malice.

i am very sure that
every pessimist
were once an optimist.

they went through
things that made them
lose hope
and lose their courage
to bravely trust and believe
again.

from the tiniest bit of betrayal
to the biggest act of treason.

i believe no one is born a pessimist.
they were all once, optimists.

hope may be a superficial belief
but it's not as fake as you think it is.

i wander in
art galleries
colourful theme parks
busy streets
dark alleys

looking for someone
i knew once before
and it was you

i have always looked
staring into the abyss
looking for you

maybe i am a soul
destined to be forever
separated from you

you may think
that i might be looking
for someone else
someone i met before

but no
that's not the case.

i stare into the arts
to find me.
i see their smiles
to remind me
of what i was before.

[stage 1]

once, i thought depression is a ******* *******.
i thought it is a figment of my imagination, the error in the calculations.
just a burden.
i never thought i would feel them every single ******* night.

[stage 2]

i thought it ended there.
i thought if i sleep early, the demons cannot haunt me at nights. i thought i could sleep and forget, like i always did.
then the nightmares came knocking at my dreams' doors.

[stage 3]

i started losing sleep. i started to believe that this will be neverending.
then i started depressing over things during daylight.

[stage 4]

im losing a piece of myself, bit by bit, every second of every day.

why do i feel heavy everytime i write?
is it such a burden to my soul to express myself?

it's like stuck between the skies and the earth
no ground to step on
and no hope to believe in.

i fear falling
crashing to the earth
meeting my end of life
i was never afraid to die
i guess maybe most of us
are just scared of how we die.

i cannot speak the right words
to express, to impress anymore
i cannot write a good poem
to relieve, to believe
it's like my mouth is closed shut
and my hands are sealed tight.