you try to find joy in the little things—
chasing your puppy around the house
finally going to sleep
taking a shower
spotting the big dipper
making pictures out of the clouds
dreaming
video games
you try to find joy in the oddest things—
staring at the ceiling and walls
pretending you're somewhere else
wishing on foreign balls of light that no longer exist
sword fighting
learning a new instrument
singing an old song
you try to find joy in the most desperate of places—
in the shower
in the car
on your phone
in your sketchbook
in your grimoire
on the front steps of a house
in the eyes of an old friend
in a classroom full of bright students
on a day that the lake is atop the cobblestone streets
you try to find joy at all—
you strip yourself of anything you used to be
and create something new
you create a warrior forged from pain
but then again, aren't they all?
you create something born from heartache
pain
suffering
sadness
depression
ignorance
naïveté
loss
grief
death
you create something from what you're surrounded by
because you thought you were surrounded by happiness
but that is why the walls were there—
to protect you from the lies
to protect you from the unknown
to protect you from the darkness.
the walls were there for a reason
but you just had to keep scratching and scratching and scratching at it
and eventually you brought down the walls
and what lay behind them
was gore
caused by you
by the beautiful lie
you created yourself
you called it
Life
and so you searched for happiness
and never found it
