Despair has a soft, grudging relationship with my mind.
The shackles of it sweep over, washing with river Cocytus waves
Sadness that had welled in tiny sacs pop and seep
Into your stiffened shoulders and shaking limbs.
Bitter bites billow and buffet your brain like stormy winds
Pounding, ringing, no words escape your cold lips
The words that should relieve your thoughts of pain, even a little
They don't flow, and the dam that blockades your rationality
Continues to pound, as you drown
Drown in the tears that choke you, the tears that should normally lessen your burden
But instead they just drain away that love of life,
That will to live,
And leave you shivering in the damp, lonely hollow husk.
Am I right? Is this your despair?
But it never ends. Whatever conflict that took the last straw wasn't the happy end.
As soon as it is resolved, the devious hands of reality concoct a new plan,
With the only intent of making you suffer. And you know it.
Every bit of happiness or good fortune is frightening, because it will not last
And to think that just because one problem is solved,
That then the world is merry again,
Is but the delusions of a fool.
And there is no escape. Once you are born into the cruel world, you are chained to that 8.
It's not a fair game; the way out--suicide--is a false promise.
You cannot force the end of infinity. It solves nothing.
Swimming in the pool of darkness is cruel, so cruel,
Because as soon as you are about to break, as soon as you say, "Hell to it all!"
And are ready to condemn yourself to the bottom,
The twisted face of life dangles a sliver of hope at you,
And now that you've seen the murky, muffled dream
You cannot condemn. And it isn't your fault. It really isn't.
Then the loop cycles once more, ready to tear you to shreds
At the next event.
How could I offer you a halfhearted coddling? How could I offer you hoax-like comfort?
Sometimes I believe the only comfort is sharing the sadness with someone else.
Misery likes company? Wrong. Misery fears it.
In isolation, it feeds off of you hungrily, touching you with its cold, metallic fingers.
But others, others, they let you free a bit of that dam.
Despair is a loop we can never escape.
We are subject to it as soon as we come. Its anguish accompanies
Our finite lives with its infinite reoccurences. And hope is a flashlight,
Nothing but a pale imposter of a sun.
Still, even if I've never stared it eye to eye, there must be a real sun out there.
And, hateful as it is true, to despise only leads to demise.
Despair is a shadow. It follows us and never disappears, a fact we must accept.
But in order to have a shadow,
Don't you think there has to be a light?
