Sometimes I write and I write and I write.
For seconds, minutes, hours on end
And then I stop and look back over what I wrote.

"What the hell? Why am I so sad?"
I ask myself daily

I think about taking my mom's advice: writing a list of things I am grateful and thankful until I'm happy
Then maybe that will make me write happier

So I do that
Yet the guilt I feel for having all I have sets in and makes it worse than before

And I write and I write and I write
And it's still sad and depressing

I think about taking my dad's advice: go exercise, do things that make me happy until I'm happy
Then maybe that will make me write happier

So I do that
Yet the sorrow settles in from the past and doing these same activities when I was happier

And I write and I write and I write
And it's still sad and depressing

But you know what?
**** it all.
Because maybe writing sad is what makes me happy
Maybe it gets all the rage, sad, depression, anxiety, fear, and guilt out of my system so I no longer have to hold everything in
Like a bottle that needs to explode but has no outlet

I'm tired
Of caring about others
Neglecting myself
Until I am almost nonexistent
And then trying to find myself

I'm tired
Of getting hurt
Giving myself away
Until I am almost nonexistent
And then having to pick up all the pieces

I'm tired
Of being lost
Looking for all the answers
Until I am overwhelmed
And then I have to wait until someone else finds me, but they never do

I'm tired
Of not being allowed to cry
Trying to express myself through other means
Until I have been drained of all feelings
And then I close myself in because I am afraid of pulling people in with me

I'm tired
Of being afraid

I could pretend to be happy and smile at everything
But that would be a lie
So why do I do it?

There's no reason for me to be happy at everything,
But I don't want people to know my suffering
So why do I hide it?

I can't seem to reach out to people
But that makes me alone
So who can I trust?

I'm rising
Then falling twice as fast and twice as far
There is a presence that follows me wherever I go
He always taunts me, intrigues me, leaves me
His touch is clammy yet satisfying
Yet the more I enjoy his presence the less of myself is here
It moves to a happier place
Full of love and life
And love
...

I am not there
I can see it but it is unattainable
I have become chained in the darkness by his presence
A caress of my cheek
An accidental nudge
To the point where even a look feels like his embrace
I sink deeper
Deeper
deeper
.

All I can do is sit back and watch the cycle continue
There is hope
It is right there in the light, where I am
I am there
But I am not
A piece of me is still chained in the darkness, never to return

Because I can save him
I can save the presence
If I stay long enough maybe he will join me in the light

Is it possible?