Your absence sits on my skin
As layers and layers
Of melancholia
Feeding off
My flesh and bones
Until I am no more
But melancholia.


F.Z.N

You mustn’t look behind
You mustn’t look ahead
Stay in the sideways they say but it can be hard when surrounded by *****
Your future is bleak and non-existent
Your past too melancholic
So sideways you look regardless of the numbing pain engulfing you
Your foreground fades to background
Your background foregrounds, highlighting futility
Looking sideways is how you stay until future and past collide

*You should’ve looked behind while the choice was there
Or ahead, at least

So this is melancholy
That bittersweet taste every time
We part ways

That deepest sigh I always utter
Whenever your lips touch mine
Because I know in a second or two
You will be gone

I have never looked forward
To our meeting
For you have always
Left me breathless
And wanting

This is insanely foolish
And I know soon
I’m about to face my doom

But every time
Your fingers
Trickle my spine
Or your breath
Suffocates me
Or your taste
Numbs me…

I find myself
Completely giving in

Until your whole being
Inhibits my system
Slowly poisoning my veins
Until my blood ceases to flow
And my heart resists pumping

But there I go again
Poisoned from the reverie
Of you and me

The car engine starts
I know this is goodbye
So long then
Until the next confluence
Of our thirsty mundane
Incongruent lives

In universal terms*;
                      a thousand lifetimes come & go
                      in the blink of an eye
                                            
                ­                            I overrated the importance of my existence
                                            and now I'm chasing leaves on the breeze.
                                                         ­         
                                                       ­           
                                                     ­             perhaps                    
         one day the breeze will fail
         and the leaves will sit willingly, still;
         hungry to be examined.
                                    
                  ­                  Only (I discover)
                             I was never chasing leaves
                                 Just lost in the wind.

I'm very tired
And it's very late at night
My thoughts keep me up
It's getting harder to fight

I think about my failures
And everything I've done wrong
How I **** everything up
It's all a familiar song

My words are getting literal
I can't disguise my guilt
The hatred for myself
In every direction it's built

Well rhyming gets so hard
When I try to write my mind
Because I'm unable to find the words
That could shed light

Even without a rhyme or a rhythm I find it hard to articulate these dangerous thoughts I have. As many writers do, we have this sense of frustration because no combination of syllables can really portray the emptiness and sadness that lives in us. Styron called it "melancholia", but not even that will suffice.