Untitled (a poem)

Untitled

Bleak

Is how I feel sometimes.

A lot of the time

Actually

Like a hazy, desolate, gray landscape

One of which the painter lost motivation to add detail and purpose

On edge is another one

Like dangling off a cliff with a rushing gorge littered with sharp rocks and flesh preying creatures just beneath

Waiting

Just waiting

For me to finally lose my grip

And fall into their cold and painful embrace

More often than not

I feel pressured

Like a piece of coal under thousands of pounds of rock

Being pushed from every angle

Shoved and pulled this way and that way

Though I fear that I will shatter and cease to exist before I become a diamond

My carbon once valuable

Now too scattered and hidden to be of use to anyone

But most of all

I feel a deep seated desire to do nothing

To just stay here in this spot forever

To waste away and be blissfully forgotten

To not have anybody rely on me

As I always seem to dissapoint

To be completely and truly myself in eternal peace

But of course I never do this

As much as I want to give in

I fight these feelings

Although it is most likely a losing battle

I talk with friends

Occasionally smile

Maybe even laugh

But it is always there

Nagging, pestering me even at my happiest

But what can I do about it

Nothing

So I continue this seemingly endless timeline of battles

Losing just as many as I win

And wait for it to be over