The cavas has been stained.
Numerous times over.
With every stroke.
Every decisive decision.
Remains.
Then it begins to paint itself.
This so called piece of unique art.  
Almost all the white is gone.
Splashed over.
And again.
With more colorful pigments and hues.
Yet covering up the past with a brighter saturation.
Only hides what's underneath.
Until it dries of course.
Making a corroding concoction of congested collisions.
That neither the painter.
Or the art would ever understand.
And so the piece goes on.
In search of a lasting peace.
While forever in limbo.
Awaiting the day when a new sheet of cavas will arrive.

i tell people everything i can’t say to myself // like that things get better // and i tell them to keep going, because in the end, everything’ll be fine // but i wanna give up every morning i wake up // since the storms rage on in my head // it makes me feel so weak // i don’t feel alive

Falling leaves hurry to gather
at one worn headstone after another
like a funeral party uncertain where
lies the lost loved one it grieves;;

Time and wind tug on the memory
left in this absent minded cemetery
no one comes visit but weather and me
and the dead lying under the trees

have stories nobody can read.

How would you describe depression
To someone who doesn't know?

Depression isn't when you know
That everything around you
Is going wrong
and you feel sad,
Depression is when you know
That everything around you
Is going right
And you still feel you sad.

and i thought
i could be alive
without you.
ends up i wanna
die without you.