Depression bites again

By George.

Whatever happened to that little boy,
The one with hope and love written in gold glitter around his wings.
The boy who chased his dreams forever, in fields of yellowed wheat.
That child of big brown eyes that could melt even the hardest of attitudes.
Whatever happened to the youthful happiness of simply being alive.
Kicking footballs down the street, just because our bodies allowed it.
Chasing animals through the wilds, and always landing on his feet.
Wanting for nothing more than a fresh fleet of crickets to descend upon this field so he could continue running free with them till the later hours of the red sky evening.

It’s like, one day, a different being exploited this life.
Took over through the growing up, changed the record on the £1 jukebox, swapped the life inside for a sweaty grease monkey who’s only purpose is to pour cold treacle over everyone he meets untill they become tired and stuck in the wake of his darkened thoughts.

Its like, all the evil souls throughout history got together for an evening meal, took a little part of themselves, tossed it all in a mixing pot and came up with an abomination, strung a name tag around its neck and called it me.
Then let it loose to perform its wicked ways on the fragile heart strings of this world.

It’s like, nothing stays fixed within the presence of this destroyer.

Like, something made of cotton wool and butterfly wings, but with fangs as deadly as the poison it drips.

It’s like, im a passenger riding aloft the shoulders of destruction, and with every step it takes, all i can do is look back at death as it feeds on the broken bones of all the beauty that ever crossed its path.

Like a battlefield after the bloodbath, my self loathing decisions stand bold spearing the hope beneath with the blood dripping end of its conquering flag staff.

It’s like an undetectable subliminal radio constantly playing at such a quiet level so as not to be noticed by the daily active mind, and then blasting full volume orders straight into the ear piece, twisting and contourting the small and wonderful accomplishments of the day.

It’s like all i can do is sit and bare witness to the unfolding pain ahead.
Watch as the devil plays my choices for fools.
Watch as the puppet master tweaks everything into a perfect slice of hell.
Knowing full well that i cannot change a damn thing, or influence a journey for the better, or plant roses where there was once just a barren field of unseen opportunity.

Just once it would be nice to see something work out, to see someone else shine while i take the back step and applaud there bravery.
To have something workout, instead of always seeing the pilot light flicker on for the furnace that will slowly burn away hope, and desire, and faith, and trust, and self content, and peace, and the calmness of the mind that will never allow the dreaming to get completely in the way.

It’s like one day, someone shot a mind altering slug, deep into the very fibre of this being, ensuring that for years to come, all pathways would hit a dead end, all beauty would be turned away, any love and passion for anything positive would always disappear into a void blackhole of emptiness and unfeeling.


This is what keeps returning and cycling around.
Nothing is the name i wear everyday i wake up.


Because nothing is all i am, and all i will ever become.


Nothing, deserves nothing.

Because nothing is all i am, and all i will ever become.

Nothing, is the beast that claws its way out, scratching at the chords of my windpipe to deliver sweet words of blatant bullshit to your door.

Nothing, is me.

And the consequences, my daily torture for being such a wicked soul, for allowing demons to play through my mind, for falling apart and dragging everyone with me time and time again, for not wining the battle inside, and for being the cruellest of mankind.