there is an irrepressible sadness within me, one that bubbles over the seams of my sanity. it seeps into my bones, weighing me down with corpulence. my flesh absorbs it, and I am turned into rough, dry papyrus; chapped lips, uneven nail tips ravaged with anxious teeth marks. it is a probable impossibility that i am able to pin down the cause of my sadness. it slips through the fingers of my consciousness like how whispers are lost through the branches of trees. I am trapped in a state of unknowing, shackled by the ropes of my own despondency. I try to pretend it isn't there, and that’s easy. but it nags. this sadness is static. it is a grey nothingness, nascent unreality that exists beneath a layer of painted realities. it is as erratic as sparks, as searing as fire. one that I can’t seem to quell.

i, my personality and being, is a curse; where the ability to feel emotion at its most acute becomes a need.