Tomorrow is never promised.

The breath in our lungs will perish,

We all expire one way or another,

Life has many beaten paths,

But I’m just one of the rocks that were kicked through the dirt.

They say to find hope in ourselves,

But when I look,

All i see is the pessimist inside,

The mind is a cage from which i cant escape, 

And at least I know I’m joyful for now, but later I’ll be at my low.

I’m doing my best to tread light to this void.

Laying here, on this wooden floor.

Staring into the ceiling light that is dimming out.

Days pass by,

I’ve counted how many times the sun and moon have been in the sky.

So as the memories are visualized, they became a reality.

So vivid, so black and white.

Pacing back and forth talking to nothing.

Touching air.

Can’t tell what’s gone and what’s really there.

Illusions of what may be just a sign,

I sit,

I wait,

As my life passes by,

Substance has become bliss,

I’ll sip the sorrow,

And permit my soul temporary relief,

But once again,

I will be at my low,

I feel the change take place,

Unbroken stares into the cracks of my ceiling,

I find every imperfection as if they were calling my name,

Somehow it seems like they resemble a metaphor of my negligence to cope.

I am but a mold composed through the mind of depression,

I am empty and broken.