Life Beneath The Words At Play

Happy times cost a lifeline

I feel happy being sad.

It fills me up with tears of joy.

It's what keeps me going.

Like an addict I crave more even if it's all pain and brings me no comfort.

The melancholy floats in the air, giving me oxygen.

I search out for depraved media.

I research death and the human existence, hoping I'll get a dose of sadness.

I watch people saying goodbye and slowly dying.

I want to feel as they felt in the moments just before they go.

I read a lifetime of crimes. The worse they get, the higher I feel. I need the graphic descriptions and details.

It's working. I'm almost depressed.

I listen to screams on repeat. It's music in my ears and white noise when I sleep.

I feel like I'm floating. The saddness controls me. It's making me cry. The pain burns through my veins that thread throughout my limp body.

I feel the dark swallow me. A wave of misery drowns me.

Sorrow is the only thing I know.

I know I'm alive if I still feel sorry for myself.

I know I'm dead if I can't feel the edge cutting my chest.

I need the pain to stay awake. I need the depression to make me feel like I'm still asleep. I need no joy when I'm derpieved of love and good.

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I've been listening to sad melancholy music and dramatic movies lately, but I'm still super happy, and it doesn't seem to affect me as much as it did before. It inspired me to write about when I was so depressed that I wanted to feel something, anything at all, and I thought maybe if I sought out sadness, I would find something, anything at all. It didn't work. I just became desensitized. This was years ago, and I have since become the happiest version of me to ever exist. I still like to explore mental health through the lens of my past self. Hope you enjoy the poems that come from my exploration :)