Innocence saw the truth
The mind filtered it, and
Misery spoke it (to him)
He heard it
And sharp anger impaled it
Revealing the remaining
Fragments of Adulterated
Distorted Truth

Isn't this what you wanted -
This voice, does it help?
No matter, what's been written -
Best keep it to yourself
Your words, yes you with the pen -
Tell truths best unsent, let it die
You opened this door,
To a world made to hide
Friends who knew better
Gone, left you behind
Family, leave them
Less burdened by whys
Madness, you have it -
They need not admire
Talk to yourself
Alone they are fine
I said, talk to yourself
Alone they're just fine

I feel as though I am a slave to destruction, knees nailed to rickety floorboards that creak against creation. I am head bowed, pleading for pleasure against the cacophony of the ******, washing white floors with grime. I am the harbinger of ends, an omen of unhappiness. I am question marks, red streaks, spilled coffee on loved words. I am torment, tormented by the ways I’ve been tormenting the things I love. I am oceans inviting and striking with no warning, hurricanes gently shaking before swallowing and devastating, promise land offering refuge and whiting out identities because nobody gets to be free. I am shackled to remorse, self hatred, anxiety. A prisoner of pain, daughter of broken glass, born in spider breaks, marked by shards and splinters. I am the whisper of ruin rattled through crows calling home across worlds and realms. I am jutted bones cutting into flesh collecting blood for breakfast and sorrow for supper, feeding famine to families I am familiarly unfamiliar with. I am cast away, fallen angel, victim to the rise of hope and sequestered from safety. Left to forage fight in fields long forgotten, to discover decades of indecency and be punished by punishing the lucky ones. The thinned wrist souls slipping from restraints, to make commodity of clear consciouses, and deliver doom promised by our ancestors. I am an agent of misery, a companion of karma, nothing more than a slave to destruction.

I don’t want to believe in hope
Because if there’s hope,
I have to change
I have to be better
I can’t stay where I am
Wallowing in my misery
Looking for reasons for rage
Desperately searching to ease
The pain from my faceless abusers
But I don’t want to be better
I like this hole I’ve dug
To lie down in and die
I’m not crying for help
I’m just crying
But for nothing more
Than the fact that I know
That I cannot stay here
Because I know
That there is hope

They are stacks of mud--
Splattered filth on the curb
slowly rotting away
like debris of our own path.
Trampled upon leaves
and roadkill rabbits
that pass by our eyes
like the birds of the sky;
Forgotten people of time
and tragedy's aftermath.

Yet these wise wise fools
are happier than I,
the higher and mightier
Begotteb of a son.
Whom dwells in depression
Chained to a society
that feeds off of misery
and regretful deceit;
The comfort and contentment
perceived as luxury and success

For I see them smile
almost a daily occurrence,
as though a new sunshine
is enough of a reason to live zealously.
For I have not unwithholdingly
smiled in countless years,
yet these pitiful souls
have the ability to surpass my own
and thrive in the freedom of their hearts
whilst I suffer in the mundane of wealth.

i am forever lost
an unpayable cost
to be free from depression to much to ask
the real me I hide under the mask
my life is a painful task
can I get a fresh start
where I don't feel like I'm always apart
my life I want to depart
com on God peirce my heart
I'm stuck in a world of thorns
trapped in a traumatic storm
what do I need
a gun to my head where I will forever bleed
I can feel if I feel the need
I can bleed if I wanna bleed
look at me now
God where's your vow
I'm sorry for being me
you knew I was never meant to be
if today I die
then now is my final goodbye
even if I tried to die
and say my final goodbye
I wouldn't fly
I would just be on the road to hell where I'll be tormented and never die
so long family goodbye

after all this time
that i have spent
being miserable
i have begun
to find it
comforting

it's a bit like stockholm syndrome
in the beginning
i hated my misery
but now
after all these years
i long for it
and miss it when it's gone

i am used to it, you see
i grew up in it
and that's quite sad
a sad comfortable misery