Trapped in this story.
Repeated history,
that's more misery than mystery.
Perhaps I'll leave this crap one day
Refuse to stay and go away,
but it wouldn't be long
before I'd collapse and relapses back into it all.
Enthralled in the fresh mesh,
across my rotten flesh.
Unable to even crawl,
as it sprawls around me
and develops me into something grotesque.
Against my best protest,
ignoring my distress,
until I become something I detest.
And all though this picturesque depiction of my depression
may seem extreme, like a bad dream
In reality it stems from a belief
that nothing ever gleams in darkness.
Regardless of what they say, darkness is artless.
Nothing more than a rotting carcass.
Harmless and heartless but not homeless,
because it's the same carcass in every ******* story in this never ending circle.
The only real consistency in the ever changing story.
Me,
internally rotting away for an eternity.
Trapped in this story.