This one comes from some older stuff of mine, written whilst dealing with what i didnt realise was a depression / anxiety disorder at the time. Thankfully now its under control, but reading this back makes me remeber just how black things were back then.
Darkness; continuous, deep, perpetual darkness.
Constant. Soulless. Empty dark space.
It laps at the edges, frayed edges of my consciousness,
To take me away from this dark, soulless place.
I try hard, straining, heaving, driving hard,
To make sense of this thing, this thing we call life.
But the depression I’m feeling is mainly borne,
From the boredom of living without much of a life.
The need to better myself, and find something more
Is much harder to achieve when things just don’t feel right.
Wanting much more, to live life like a prize,
Yet stuck in this hole, watching life drifting like sand,
And seeing myself through some strangers’ eyes.