I've been dancing with this invisible illness.
All year round, from dusk to dawn, for six years now.
"What a pity," I tell myself.
One minute, it's all highs.
Next thing you know, it's all lows.
Being stained with fiery yellows,
Then soaked with pitch dark blacks.
A curse, a cycle, without an end.
There goes all hope.
I have nothing left to live for, nothing left to give.
Maybe this is the end that I've been yearning for.