no way out

 It has been so long since I last felt considerably happy; of course I have had short-lasting pleasures and hopes but it all comes down to true misery as soon as the mist of joy is cast away. Dopamine meltdown, I find myself in waking moments everyday, when I lose everything only to start again tomorrow. I am so tired of this. Cycling through people, trying to find something real. Cycling through moments, through days, weeks, months. The feeling of no feedback devours me, for I am feeding constantly into a loop of the same day. Going through the same pain in different shades, under different levels of light. And it takes away so much. So much of me. My body, my mind, my soul. It is destroying me, my grave enemy. 

The pastures of my past are the pastures of my future, I have spent the pastures of the last few months braving meadows. Meeting people I don't talk to the next week, taking myself down into lakes of hope. Drowning at the mere promise, before my feet even fall into the water. I had promised myself; things will get better. 

Has it gotten better, am I doing well, does the next day seem more promising than another one..? No. Not at all.. I struggle to keep walking, to keep breathing at times. My ribs are pushing into my heart, I am tearing myself apart from the inside out. But what can I do other than surrender myself to God?

I wish it didn't have to be like this, but festivals must end as festivals must. There truly are greater things in life, which present no satisfaction to me in my current state, but... I must take a way. I simply have to.

I must struggle and continue. Because even if I have nothing today, the promise still remains. Whether I drown or not. This feeling of emptiness stays even in the most joyous of nights, a great melancholy has befallen me like a love the kind of no other. My only company is darkness at the times I am most fragile, and silence has became music to my ears. I used to like dancing in my room, without care for making noise or anything else really, but not even music makes me feel anything anymore. Just sadness; music is a sharp blade, drawing out the loneliness out of my veins.

Though white paper and black ink does satisfy me, it pushes a feeling inside which I cannot explain. I really admire the purity of it, the dance of the two colors. How the ink has a way of taking itself out through the pen, the marks it leaves on the barren ground it lays itself on. Its quite beautiful for me. 

Unlike the black ink, I have no way out of my isolation.