You sip on your bleak cup of disappointment
Not a particularly pretty cup or tasty beverage
But I’m used to it now
It’s lukewarm indifference provides an unsettling comfort to my soul
Is this addiction?
Am I self-harming?
I feel the pain… but not so deep
A sweet sting
Like the pricks of the nettles as you try to reach for the berries beside the creek
But is it?
I hear of a chalice of happiness
Filled to the brim with content
Gold and shining with hope
But surely its a myth
Could there ever be such bliss
As I slowly and slowly cut away at myself
With small unnoticeable pricks
every time, I wonder
Is it really tolerable
This eternal amiss?
Or am I slowly fading away in the deep abyss
without a thought or a notice
As my vision slowly starts blurring and defocusing
Everything becomes so unpromising
And every bite turns to mulch
Even the ones that were the tastiest to munch
Oh to wake up..
I have to wake up!
What if I never Wake up?
Until Next Time,