i write depressing prose.

I’ve been numb for 5 years and yet I’ve allowed distraction to penetrate my vision of my very own future
A pane of glass that could shatter into a million indistinguishable shards of mental terror in an instant, destroyed.
And yet I’ll continue to write about nothing
And do nothing
And grow little
And fear and hurt and love every second of it because as inevitable as change may be, change is too uncomfortable.
I couldn’t possible imagine a world in which I could go an entire month without falling back into a self woven womb of despair
Comforted by the cold heat of misfiring neurons
Comforted by the distance between me and the world
Between my concept of self and my misunderstanding of salvation
There isn’t any gold and there isn’t any rainbow.
I’m not
I’ll never
It couldn’t ever
Only if
Only when
Just wait, and then.

And then what?
Who am I kidding.
Are my eyes no longer blind to the fact that a happy life exists?
The time has come to stand tall and proud on two feet that might not ever truly find a path,
Unless of course I believe
Unless of course I dig deep
Past all layers of despair, with every ounce of hope
Unless of course I accept the burdens and rise above with the power of faith in action.