Symphonic depression
Snowflakes sang in a choir beyond the window.
The sky was muddy,
and the streets were cold.
People were few, and their eyes
betrayed emptiness;
I thought...
‘God, there are lights awaiting to embrace me!’
But I was wrong.
What marvelous dreams I forsook when I awoke!
I’m awake among ghosts,
searching for falling skies,
yet the skies refuse to fall,
and I refuse to stop searching,
and the road serpentines before me,
while I stand to be transcended
by machines.
Death was a brilliant joke.
I cried. I was dying.
Pathetic am I whenever I die,
and I wonder...
Are all people as insecure?
I change my mind quickly...
Today I crave death...
Tomorrow I’m invincible.
Yesterday I cut my wrists on shards from my eyes.
I mirror something, yet I know no peace.
I pray to be taken where the silence dwells,
yet Silence refuses to meet me.
Silence is not a good friend anymore...
It refuses to hear me.
The birds demonstrate violence towards the wind.
The wind demonstrates violence towards the trees.
The trees demonstrate violence towards their
inhabitants.
The winter sings praises to futility.
I sit in a puddle of hopelessness.
Time strums guitars with broken strings.
I smashed a violin against the cold,
and it started to cry.
I’m not sorry.
The butterflies are dead.
I am.