I come to you once more,
Talking about emptiness-
The inability to form words,
The fear that I am slowly losing that which I have built the foundation of my identity upon.
The inability to perceive, to feel,
To connect the dots of my existence-
Even dysphoria cannot break through.
Isn't it ironic that I have spent my days,
Trying to claw my way out of melancholy,
Only to have myself
Wishing, begging for it?
For a taste, just a drop of the darkness, the madness, that once threatened to consume me,
To take me away from all that I love,
All that I hold dear,
All that hold me dear,
Just because I want a chance to feel,
Anything,
Something other than the emptiness.
Depression is a slippery slope,
I take one uncertain step after another
In the hopes that I will find my way out again,
Before I drown, finally,
Before my unexplainable sadness consumes me.
©May
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