A Joy So Near To Melancholy

S u i c i d e i s t h e A n s w e r t o L i f e                                  P e r h a p s r a i n b o w s d o e x i s t i n t h e u n d e r w o r l d ?                                                                                                                             C a n i t b e t r u e ? M y e y e s o p e n t o t h e r i b b o n s o f C o l o r r i d i n g a c r o s s t h e s h a d o w s                     w i t h o u t d...

My Spirit is beaten. I don’t want to dance anymore. I don’t want to sing. I don’t want to look up at anyone. I don’t want to look down on anyone.  I’ve always been here, my body limp and dead. Not even the predators want to eat me.  I’m still alive, I just don’t know when’s the right time to move. When she came I felt safe and protected, And went under her care. I walked alongside her… But then I got lost trying to find my way out without her. And now I’m laid bare. I could wait again, playing dead until I find the right time to move. But my spirit has decayed and now it says it doesn’t care if I survive. My body needs to move again, but my spirit doesn't easily lend to that. To move, jump into the void, and reap all of its benefits and consequences. Something I fear, something I hate, something I love, something ... what is it that I am missing? Unless this is all there is, and my spirit is truly death itself: not letting in any light from others, nor offering respite to anyo...