Melancholy Me,
even when in treatment.
Hit like do the waves against the cliffs face.  
Almost myself,
the inkling concept whispering
Almost.  Almost.
self inflicted, taste familiar

My own sick habit, or need unwanted
why I force myself,
to the place,
below, inside to the embrace
weak, true to my form

Knowing only this way.
that facet, the path that
leads me, calls me irresistably
Pulling to melancholy

Down, deep, worn
to my misery never earned
in the torment undeserved.  

Why?
When almost. Almost.
normal and Me.
Trying
Trying.