Ridonsi donne e giovani amorosi
M’ occostandosi attorno, e perche scrivi,
Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana
Verseggiando d’amor, e conie t’osi ?
Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai vana
E de pensieri lo miglior t’ arrivi;
Cosi mi van burlando, altri rivi
Altri lidi t’ aspettan, & altre onde
Nelle cui verdi sponde
Spuntati ad hor, ad hor a la tua chioma
L’immortal guiderdon d ‘eterne frondi
Perche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?
Canzon dirotti, e tu per me rispondi
Dice mia Donna, e’l suo dir, e il mio cuore
Questa e lingua di cui si vanta Amore.

"If you could have dinner with
anybody, living or dead, who would it be?"

Well, my guest of choice
Is neither alive nor dead.
He does not abide by earthly laws
and is not bound by physical form.

He shows up fashionably late;
at my front door stands an outline
resembling the shape of a man,
dressed fashionably in vanta black.

He is everything and nothing.
He speaks with deafening silence,
whispers in static and white noise.
Tonight I'm dining with "the man
who has all of the answers".

I've compiled a list of unsolved mysteries and universal unknowns.
Strings of words come together begging to know:
Just where did everything go wrong?

But the man with all of the answers--
The man entrusted with the universe's objective, un-biased truths--
The man hidden in vanta black,
first has a question for me.

That man who has all of my answers
has no interest in my casserole.
He instead eats up the shell of my soul
for when he asked me his question,
he realized there was one answer even he didn't know.

I wasn't expecting dinner
to remain at the table
untouched and cold.
"Who are you?" was the question
that swallowed me whole.

I was once a blind man; I sought after something that simply didn't exist.
I climbed the stairs, to reach the roof of the building. Looking down was a sea of hope. I did not want hope~
I tried, I jumped wanting to sprout wings and fly, soar above anything that may put me in harms way.
But like a stalled plane, I fell hard and fast.
I was never this trusting, I sealed my heart within the confines of my eternal jail cell -the mind- hoping it would never escape the darkness.
My weary mind only brought angst and distorted memories.
those feelings I had never wanted to feel again.
Like melted glass, my heart was sculpted from pieces of my broken past.
shattered over and over, I fought for whatever remained but my mind can be malleable. It can be twisted and believe in the lies that one may bring upon myself.
The will to love, to trust, to become one with another was all but forsaken until an enlightening soul entered my life.
How the memories of the taken, were brought back onto my mind and to hell they went for the sins they've committed. I didn't care. I broke the circle and without hesitation ran toward the inflicted. They were torn. Just like I.
They're heart shattered just like I.
I saw them, atop the same building.
About to jump.
But it was then I realized, it was me. Again and again the cycle continued.
I was the one who pulled myself toward the hope.
I was the one who wanted to love again.
I never wanted to grow wings, to glide into the vanta night sky alone once again.
I never wanted solitude
I realized myself.  Who I am, who i'm meant to be.
The sins I commit are ones i'm proud to speak for if they are sins at all; why should I abandon those who sought to condemn me to hell?
I am a man of my own free will. I am a man who seeks his own happiness. I am a man who controls his life.
I am me.

Depression is often hard to describe.
It is like...
I am sitting in a pit.
It is dark.
Sticky.
Like someone dumped hot tar,
right into my head.

Like someone tied my hands behind my back and asked me to play the piano.
Like someone blindfolded me and then asked me to take an eye test
Like someone broke my legs and then asked me to run a marathon.

There's glimmers of light, like dying embers floating through the air.
I am scared to touch them, even though i can use them to make more light,
and escape.
I could get burned in the process.

I cant seem to understand why
I am afraid of getting better

But really what is worse?
Being burned for the better,
or drowning in the thick, choking, vanta black of your own thoughts?