He lied so casually;
Such little meaning in such big statements.
When he said “I love you”, did he ever truly mean it?
Has he ever meant anything? Was his whole being merely a facade?

Chasing the answers;
Does he ever truly wish to find them?
He finds depressive thoughts comforting;
So lost in self-pity, he loves to feel sadness.

Something to hold deep within.

He bleeds words onto paper, too afraid to bleed in the open;
An ever-spiraling cycle.

He knows his demons are many;
He knows his demons are self-made.
Depression grips him, as depression is relief.

Is the world even real when his thoughts are so inward and selfish?

Lost. Lost. Lost.

Do I want to be found?
Do I want to find myself?

I think not; I fear I am not the person I would like to be.

When did he turn into me?

How did this happen?