Exposing my thoughts day after day,
sometimes, makes me feel vain.
Filtering the sadness and the madness from my soul,
sometimes, makes me feel unrecoverable.
Keeping prior kindness and politeness,
sometimes, makes me reconsider my values.
And, strangely, the resulting bitterness makes my heart sour.
All this feeling mixed with all that thinking only creates confusion.
And my spirit is as troubled as my soul.
The resulting emptiness creates more space for darkness.
And leads, ironically, to desperation and loneliness.
Reaching by then rock bottom, the void could only be filled,
Instead it started growing,
Creating a hungry, unsatisfied black hole.
“Search for help”, but I don’t feel like it.
There’s something so attracting about falling,
Some twisted pleasure about being engulfed in new depths.
Maybe because I think I can get out.
Maybe because I’m sure that I can stop my course.
Maybe because I believe I can ascend as fast as I fall.