If only I had ignored that weak self, that stupid self,
that self who let it all go wrong.
I could be one of those cheerful people who take
being alright for granted, who strive for excellence
instead of just normality.
one of those people who look in the mirror
and see only themselves never noticing traces
of an unwelcome stranger.

.

I am the wrong of everything
that makes my once here world long gone,
the bitterness which haunts my life,
the no victory no defeat but also no peace,
the no love no hate but also no calm
but never excitement. always silence.

I am the terrible of whatsoever
makes its way into it all,
the disgustingness of solitude,
the loneliness of thought.

I am the reason for the something else,
though it matters to no one to me,
I am the ****** of the goodnight dear sleep well,
the goneness of the now.

the gloomy morning seems to go on forever,
yet the day ends all too soon.
life is like this

There has been a disturbance to the very foundation
of what I once was,
all starting from one morning I don't remember when,
all ending ever since.
Each day seems another day wasted,
another day tallied before the death
which seems ridiculously far off,
can life really be this long?
It's strange-
when you're happy, death seems all too near,
when you're sad all too far away.

looking for a hidden meaning in your words,
hoping there is one,
perhaps deceiving myself,
hoping you think of me with more than
the plain.
but when I look at you, you are looking away,
never at me.

The problem with my sadness is that I cannot explain it
to anyone.
It is so quiet, so subtle, a reminder in the back of my mind,
a gloominess overlooking all time,
and in its quietness it is unbearable,
unsharable,
a pain all my own.